With Love, Your Socially Awkward Butterfly
by LifeIsTooShortEatIceCream
Summary: Bailey is shy. Seth is in love. How long can a girl cover up her smile? Seth/OC, imprint story
1. If You Must Know, My Name Is Bailey

I am shy.

Just going to put that out there, not wait to make some big revelation or something halfway through my story.

And not the cute, blushing-girl-next-door kind of shy, but the socially awkward, you cringe-when-she-tries-to-talk kind of shy.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I stuttered until I was nine years old, or that my dear mother is a librarian, so that almost all of my time was spent in the local library where if I so much as hiccupped I was shushed. Or maybe it's because I had a step dad who would spit at me when I would talk, at least up until a year and a half ago.

Either way, as you can imagine, standing up in front of the whole class to say how I thought the movie To Kill a Mockingbird was different then the book wasn't exactly my cup of tea.

I tried to stuff some air into my lungs. Everybody was staring at me. Would they quit it? Didn't they know how rude it was to stare? Didn't they know how unnerving that was?

"The- um, well, the book, it… um, it was- it was very, uh, very different. Different from the boo- I mean, the movie. The book- the book was different then the movie."

Great. Right on. Brilliant start.

"And…" the teacher prompted. I was about to sit back down, and I stared at him in a panic. I had to say _more_?

Seeing that I wasn't getting the message, he continued. "And why do you think that, Bailey?"

"Um. I think that… because… well, in- in the book…"

I could feel my hand slip on the desk I was grasping onto, my palm leaving sweat marks.

"The character, I mean, the main character… he- wait, she, was much…"

Much… much what? You had an answer to this two seconds ago, Bailey. Come on, come on…

"Much less, uh… child-like."

Child-like? What? That was a stupid answer. I should have said that there wasn't a real difference, that the director of To Kill a Mockingbird, Robert Mulligan (searched that up yesterday in my copious free time—as you can guess, I'm sorry to say that I don't have much of a social life), did an excellent job of portraying the book very accurately in the movie, right down to the main character's childlike innocence as she faces the bigger-than-her-world problems of racism, rape, and what true courage is.

Of course, that's what I should have said, but I was reminded of my step dad's stubbled face and I kept my mouth safely shut and sat down heavily in my chair.

I was saved from any more imploring questions by a divine intervention. Or rather, the bell.

I slowly packed up my things, letting my black hair slip over my face. Black hair. At best, it was boring. At worst, it looked like a wombat had gone and died in it.

But, considering everything, I had a little bounce to my walk as I hurried out of the class room, once I was sure that I wouldn't get trampled by the rush of students eager to get out of there. Why? Because it was my favorite time of the day. 5th period study hall. The period that my whole day revolved around. I would like to say that this was because I enjoyed using the free time that this school so generously gave us to get ahead on my school work so that I could engage in some wholesome extracurricular activities, but it was really because of who was in my 5th period study hall.

Seth Clearwater. Seth Clearwater, Seth Clearwater, Seth Clearwater. I can't even remember a time where I wasn't in love with him

I also know firsthand that unrequited love sucks, because he had looked at me all of eight times in the past two school years and seven months. I could specifically remember each time.

And one of them doesn't even count, because it was when I was standing right outside of the door and he opened it really quickly and it knocked into me and I got a bloody nose.

Because _that_ wasn't excruciatingly humiliating. Not.

Anyways, you never know. Today might be the day that he wakes up to find that he has suddenly fallen in love with me, and will marry me and do anything for me.

Hey, a girl could dream.

**AN: I know, I know… it's the classic cliche, Boy Imprints on Girl With Scarred Background story… but they're just so fun to write! I'm writing the next chapter now, and if I get any reviews it'll be up soon… (hint hint, wink wink). **


	2. Seth's Great Disappearing Act

Make that nine times.

But it totally didn't count because, a) it was an embarrassing display of my awkwardness, and b) he had barely even looked at me.

I had bumped into him—or rather, _he_ had bumped into _me_, seeing as he was at least 6' and I stubbornly refused to grow over my puny 5'3.

"Oh, sorry. My bad."

Four words. Then he walked away.

(insert long suffering sigh)

He, Seth, (who else would I be talking about?) hadn't been at school since Monday. Today was Friday. That was four days, if you can't do the math. Four days since I had last seen him.

What if he had gotten run over by a truck on the way home? None of his buddies—other large, russet skinned, testosterone filled boys from the reservation on La Push—seemed particularly worried. What if he was dead and lying in a ditch somewhere, and I was the only one who would ever notice, and—

"Hey sweetie," My mom called as she clambered into the kitchen, her and my 14 year old brother loaded with grocery bags.

"So," she said, excited about something. She was always excited by something as she came home from work, but by 10:00 it seemed like all of her energy had just kind of pooled out of her. Don't ask me why. Me and my brother, Ian, had learned that if you wanted something, just ask for it as she as going to bed. You would always get it.

Correction: step-brother. Sometimes I forgot.

"I was talking to Carrie from work—"

Oh know. Another one of her (insert name)-from-work ideas. Stacy-from-work told her she should start water aerobics, Tom-from-work said she should take up visual art, Farah-from-work was always talking about the benefits of veganism. How that many people were able to work at a quilting shop was beyond me.

Because that was where my mother worked: Krazy for Kwilting, a tiny shop in Port Angeles run by my grandmother. Not that she knew crap about "kwilting". She was their accountant.

"—and she said that her daughter had just taken up horse-back riding lessons from this new barn out of town. Horse-back riding—what do you think about that, Bail? Could be fun, right? I rode horses when I was a kid. Not that I ever really liked it, but still, it could be fun for you… she said the first couple of lessons were free… What do you think, sweetie?"

My face was turned away from her, facing Ian as he pulled a slice of pizza from our refrigerator and attacked it, so he could see my horrified expression. He snickered.

No, mother, I do not want to ride horses. Horses scare me, because if you don't remember, I fell off of one when I was seven and my girl scout group was visiting a barn and it really hurt and was one of the reasons why, two years later, when you got too busy with your new boyfriend to bring me over there every other day after school, I was so happy that I didn't have to go anymore.

Horses are also very large. I don't like large things.

"Bailey?"

I looked at her, looking at me expectantly. None of this was her fault. She tried so hard to make me happy.

I nodded. "Okay."

"Yay!" She said, clapping her hands together.

She probably wouldn't follow through with it, anyway. She never did.

It was next Thursday, it was raining, and Seth still wasn't at school.

I was really starting to get worried. If he was dead, school life would become very, very boring for me. Didn't he realize how important the 45 minutes that I was able to spend with him every school day was to me?  
It was time to take action. Not that I was going to ask his teacher anything. The last time I had voluntarily talked to a school official was when I got called into the office because my mom was there for a doctor's appointment I had forgotten about, and I was so nervous that my step-dad had come back and murdered Ian or something that I almost peed my pants.

So, no. I _would_ be talking to Ian, though.

I met him in the kitchen. He had a lacrosse stick in his hand. Lately I had become accustomed to wincing away from him with my arms held protectively out when I walked past him. He was always body-checking me or hitting me with his stick or swooping the stick above my head and almost knocking over a picture frame while calling out "SWIM DODGE!" and then sprinting away down the hallway.

He cradled, and did a fake shot at my face. I grimaced.

"What's up?"

"Do you know where… um, Seth, is?"

I usually didn't have much of a problem talking to Ian, but I would probably never be able to say Seth's name without choking over it.

"Who?"

"Seth. Clearwater. He hasn't been at school for a while."

"Yeah. So?"

"Do you know where he is?"

"Why the hell would I know where he is?"

"Well, he's in your grade…"

"Yeah, that doesn't mean—"

All of a sudden his face changed from confusion to the mockery that was so common in little brothers.

"Oooh- you hittin' on a freshie?"

"Shut up," I muttered.

Yes, he was a freshmen. I was a junior. In my defense, he looked old enough to pass as a senior, and besides, Ian was young for his grade. I'm sure Seth was at least 15. I was 17. That's only two years.

"Never thought you were the cradle-robber type of girl, Bail."

"Do you know where he is or not?" I asked tersely."

"Nope," he said, tossing up the ball in the air and catching it again. "Sorry."

I nodded. "S'fine."

Not that I had really expected him to know, but it would have been nice to know that he was out for a family emergency and not, you know. Dead.

I didn't know this then, but he would still be out on Friday.

And Monday, and Tuesday.

But Wednesday— Wednesday, May 30, 2012— they day when he came back, would be the day that would inexplicable, impossibly, whether-I-liked-it-or-not, forever change my life.

I just didn't know it yet.

**AN: Thank you, thank you, thank you all of my awesome reviewers! Seth comes in next chapter… I'm so excited! **


	3. I Really Hope This Is Important, Ian

**Next chapter will hopefully be up later today (I can't help myself— I like writing this story too much!). Your reviews make me a better writer! Thank you!**

In case you're wondering, it didn't happen during study hall. I wonder how things would have been different if it had.

Not that I particularly want to know.

I _did_ see him for the first time during that fatalistic 5th period, though. It was funny how when I would see him, even after his mysterious disappearance, my heart would seem to pick up and go _BINGBINGBING_ like it would on a game show when somebody had won the million dollars. Why? Dunno. I don't even know particularly _why_ I like him. It's just… he always seemed so happy and friendly and helpful, and I love his smile so much…

But this time when he walked into the drab gray square that was our classroom, the first thing that came mind was:

Anabolic steroids are bad for you… right?

I hoped he knew that.

I mean, not that he looked like one of those gross body builders who put balloons in their arms, but good Lord, he was _ripped_. Like, you could kind of see his pecs through his shirt, and the muscles on his arms would kind of _ripple_ whenever he moved... and I could have also sworn that he was a good five inches taller. Is that even possible?

Needless to say, any part of me that wasn't completely desperate for him before that just kind of shriveled up and died.

I jerked my head around and hid my face behind my textbook, really, really hoping he hadn't seen me ogling at him.

Him and one of his buddies, two hulk-lie figures, walked into the room. He had to duck his head to fit into the door frame. He silently walked in, sat down at one of the desks, and brought out a textbook that looked like a child's cardboard picture book in his hand.

Not unusual, right? That's what you were supposed to do. Sit down quietly, get to work. But the fact that he did this disturbed me so much that I had to bring down my textbook to stare at him again.

Seth _never_ did that. He and his friends would laugh and joke around loudly until one of the teachers, smelling of cigarette smoke, would come in from the teacher's lounge and tell them to hush. Even then he never actually _did_ any work— paper airplanes, thrown pencils, things that they would snicker over. That was the Seth I was used to—happy, cheerful, laughing all the time.

Of course, I had never actually _talked_ to him, but I _have_ had a hard-core crush on him for two years. After two years of silent observing, and you can really get to feel like you know someone.

But when I looked at him this time, he was definitely different. His eyes were dark, eyebrows drawn down, jaw seemingly more hard-set. He was glaring down at his textbook like it had done him some horrible wrong. Gone was the happy, boyish look to his face that I had loved. It made me sad.

What happened to you, Seth?

Three hours later, it was the last period of the day, and I was still thinking about him. The teacher was droning on about some formula for triangles that I would never use again in my life, so it wasn't hard to let my mind wander.

Had somebody died?

Was he really sick or something?

Was he on drugs or something? Seriously, how can someone get _that_ muscled in two and a half weeks? Not that I was complaining or anything…

Stop it, Bailey. You are overreacting, and he's perfectly fine.

I had seen some of the other girls here already staring at him as he had walked into the cafeteria, and I was worried how intensely jealous it made me.

My stream of irrational thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of a cell phone.

Ooh, I thought, already feeling bad for that person. Whoever that was was gonna _get it_ from the teacher.

Just last week we had an assemble about how being on your cell phones during school hours would not be tolerated (Who cares? We have less then two more weeks of school left for crying out loud). Probably one of those annoying snobby girls who put their textbooks up and texted behind it so that the teach-

Wait.

That was me.

God? You there? Help me.

Many a four-letter word that I will not repeat ran through my mind right then.

Everybody was staring at me.

I was gonna puke.

_brriiiiiiinnng_

The only part of my brain that was rational right now finally kicked in. Turn it off, turn it off, TURNITOFFYOUIDIOT.

I fumbled getting it out of my pocket, my blood boiling with embarrassment and horror. I was about to slam on the red "end call" button, smashing the traitorous machine if I had to.

But then I saw the caller ID.

It was Ian.

The last time Ian had called…

Oh God, now I _really _ was going to throw up.

I was paralyzed. There was something stuck in my throat. I floundered around like a fish for about five seconds, looking down at the floor, trying to get some kind of explanation out of my mouth. I made the mistake of looking up again and everybody was looking at me and the teacher was glaring murderously at me and I tried to get something, anything, out of my mouth, but I _couldn't_. I couldn't breathe, couldn't talk, couldn't do anything but sit there and curse at my step-dad in my mind for doing this to me.

Actually, I take that back. There was one more thing I could do, which I did promptly once I realized that there was no way this could end well.

I set my eyes on the door, not looking at anything else, and bolted. All out sprint straight to the girl's bathroom, where I locked myself in one of the stalls.

"Ian? Are you okay?"


	4. No Words

**First off, I cannot thank you enough to those who have reviewed! It means a lot to me.**

**Also, I listened to My Love by Sia while writing the imprinting scene. Not that I'm trying to advertise or something, but it really fits the mood of the last part of the chapter (at least I think). **

**This was so much fun to write. Enjoy!**

"Bailey?"

"Ian? Ian! What're you-"

"Where are you?"

"Where am I? I'm at school! Ian, what's going on?"

"Bailey, listen-"

He cut off then for a couple of seconds. I could only hear my own breathing through the receiver, and for a horrible moment I thought he had hung up.

"I… I'm sorry, Bail."

"Ian? Wha-"

I was shaking, my spine pressing into the door of the bathroom stall. What the heck was going on?

"I can't… I'll tell you when you get home, okay?"

…he would tell me when I got home? Are you kidding me? I had basically just stamped a huge sign on my forehead that would forever read "That Freak Who Bolted Out of Class For No Reason," not to mention how much trouble I would be in with the teacher. What could be this important? _What was happening?_

"You don't have any idea how much trouble I'm in, Ian."

"Oh, God, Bail, I'm sorry, I didn't even think about that you would be in class…"

"And you're not?" I said, almost joking. Where else would he be?

Wait.

"You _are_ at school, right Ian?"

"Bailey… I can't tell you right now. When you get home, okay?"

"Bu-"

"I'm so sorry. I have to go."

"No! You can't just-"

"I left my bike at the school, okay? I know you usually walk home, but can you please take my bike home?"

I didn't say anything. I was angry at him, angry at what he wasn't telling me, and it was probably raining. No way in heck I was going to take his stupid bike home.

"Bailey? You still there? Take my bike. Please."

…

I could hear the crackle of his sigh over the receiver, and then the click as he hung up. I flipped the phone closed, and briefly thought about just dropping it in the toilet.

My mind was running around in circles with the millions of things that could be happening, all of the things that could have gone wrong… I couldn't for the life of me conjure up something rational. Nobody but my mom had ever called me on my cell phone, let alone _Ian_, who wouldn't be caught dead talking to his weird older sister in front of his friends.

I could hear the muffled ring of the bell, marking the end of the school. I wanted to just curl up in a hole and cry.

But I couldn't. Because, a) that would probably give the janitor a bit of a scare, and he was like 80 years old and I didn't want him to die of a heart attack or something, and b) I had to get home, where I would pound the answer out of Ian.

Now, _how_ I was going to do that was a question… my face was still burning from the embarrassment of what had happened in class, not to mention the absolute last thing I wanted to do right now was answer questions.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the parking lot was mostly cleared out. It was also pouring, sheets of rain hitting the ground like bullets, which just put the icing on the cake that this wonderful day had been.

I sighed, eyeing Ian's bike across the lot.

Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm taking the bike. But I had gained some rationality in the eighteen minutes I had just spent sitting on the floor of the girl's bathroom, and I figured, why not? It would get me home quicker, and I could use it as a bribe if Ian wouldn't tell me what was going on.

I looked around, feeling like an idiot, for any stragglers still at school. Chill, Bailey. People never really noticed you before, why would they now?

I could feel the misty spray of the rain off of the top of the ledge I was standing under. I put up my hood, ready to sprint, but then put it back down. I was biking home; no matter what I did I was going to get soaked. Might as well enjoy it.

Head down, I walked over to the bike, which was leaning against the bike rack, which was currently about two inches deep in water. Great.

I yanked at the thing, but it wouldn't come loose. Bike lock. Of course. Since when did Ian use a bike lock?

It was down low, so I had to kneel in the water to reach it, thoroughly soaking my pants. Wet jeans. Ew.

It was then that I heard the voices behind me. How, I don't know. The rain was pounding. Deep, raucous... a group of guys. Crap.

I turned around to look behind me, already expecting what I would see. Because _every_ girl wants her crush to see her looking like a wet cat, kneeling on the ground, pitifully struggling with a bike lock. Yup, it was Seth. Him and about three of his friends, walking and talking to each other underneath the ledge. They looked kind of blurry because the rain, stinging on my back even through my shirt, was so hard. The sky thundered, and I jumped, hearing myself splash.

Please don't look at me. Please don't look at me. If there is a God, Seth will not look over here at me.

_Stupid freaking bike lock!_

All of a sudden, I could hear their muffled sounding voices stop. It was dead quiet.

The water was dripping down off of my hairline in icy little rivers, soaking into my eyes and making it impossible to do anything. I looked up and blinked, desperate to clear my vision so I could _go home_.

And they were standing there. And I don't know about the other two, but Seth was looking at me.

Staring at me.

It was raining.

The metal of the bike was cold.

And Seth was staring at me.

I was shivering.

I was frozen.

And that boy was staring at me.

I could finally breathe.

I could feel my heart beat shake my chest.

And all of a sudden, I was floating.

He was there. Right there. And there was a string in my heart, in my chest, pulling me towards him.

My feet were in too many places. My brain was a muggy mess of colors. Something was overflowing in my chest, and I hated my mom.

But it was okay. Because he would sweep it all away, and bring me back down so I could touch earth again, and give me wings, and I would belong with him.

Oh God. I _belonged_.

And in that parking lot, on that day, something was happening that was bigger than anything I would ever know. I was scared.

I belonged. And it scared me. It _terrified_ me.

More than anything ever had.

Three steps, and he was halfway to me. I could almost see his eyes.

Three more steps, and I could be free. Free with _him_.

I yanked away the bike lock, let it drop, and let the rain fall back into my eyes.

I hurtled myself onto the bike, and in the opposite direction as fast as I could.

I didn't look back.

The string broke. My chest overflowed.

I peddled away.


	5. In Which Seth Skips School

**Kind of a filler chapter. I hope it's not boring. Also, I just wanted to say, that there **_**is**_** something Ian is hiding from Bailey… it will definitely come up in later chapters! And of course, there will be a whole lot of Seth very soon. I regret to say that, divine intervention aside, I will not be updating tomorrow (just for the record, I **_**hate **_**exams), but you can expect a chapter on Friday. Thank you for reading and reviewing!**

Well. It was official.

I wanted to hurt something. The last day and a half had been a whole string of "WTF?" moments, and that was before Seth even came knocking at my door the next morning.

That's right- _morning_. I was staying home specifically to avoid him, which in retrospect wasn't a good idea, because there were only two more days before we had final exams.

Plus, there was the story that I told my mom about having to randomly throw up in the middle of last period yesterday, which was of course why I skedaddled out of the classroom in such a hurry, not because my idiot brother had called me.

Speaking of which: Ian hadn't told me what was going on. I had burst into the house, dripping wet, afraid that somebody was going to die or something, still shaken and not quite sure about what had happened in the parking lot.

"Oh, hey Bail," he had said, holding a piece of bread in one hand and a fork in the other which he proceeded to stab the butter carton. There's a tool for that, Ian—ever heard of _knives_?

Anyways, I could immediately tell that he wasn't going to spill the marbles. His voice had completely lost the urgency that I had heard through my telephone earlier, and he had a stance of utmost casualness as he stuffed the piece of violently buttered bread into his mouth.

"What? Oh, _that_. Yeah. Sorry about that, I don't know what I was thinking," he had said, when I brought the call up.

"Just forget about it, kay?"

"Ian… are… are you kidding me?"

We had then of course proceeded to argue for the next five minutes, him all, "forget about it Bailey, it was nothing," and me, desperately thinking, "I almost just died I rode your stupid bike home so fast and I was seriously worried that dad had come back or something, and I really want to kill you right now, and you can't expect me to just brush this off."

Of course he got his way. He won. The argument, I mean.

I decided I was letting it go. If it was important he would tell me, right?

Plus, I hated fighting with Ian. He had five inches and a good thirty pounds on me.

And, you know, I loved him. That too.

I then proceeded to take a shower and fall asleep on the floor of my bedroom in my jeans because I didn't feel like digging through our laundry pile, aka Mount Everest II (helpfully named by Ian), and sleep for fourteen hours.

In that time, I had decided three things.

Number one: The way his voice had sounded on the phone, panicked and breathless and tight, would always come back to scare me when I was lying awake at two in the morning, but I wasn't going to worry about it. If it was important enough, Ian would tell me.

Number two: the Parking Lot Incident.

It seemed surreal then, waking up in the morning. I would liken it to the feeling of a dream that you know you had but you can't remember. Or déjà-vu.

Either way, it was nothing. I did not belong. I could float around wherever I wanted. I did not want to think about Seth. I _would not_. That probably wasn't even him, standing there all blurry in the rain.

It confused me, so therefore I would not think about it.

_Stop thinking about it, Bailey._

Number three: I was not going to school tomorrow. Just because I wasn't supposed to be thinking about _him, _it didn't mean that I was ready to face him again in 5th period study hall and start freaking out or something. And, of course, I had my image to keep up. I was supposed to have the stomach flu right now.

All of this went on before approximately 10:00 in the morning, about the time of the break we had at school in between the second and third periods.

_Ding-dong_.

Our ridiculously loud door bell made me jump in my seat, where I was currently eating breakfast. Nobody was home. Mom had gone to her "kwilting" store (I can't get over how stupid that name is), and Ian was, hopefully, at school. Where he should be.

"Crap," I muttered to myself. Probably somebody trying to get us to buy something. I hated answering doors, and I even more despised talking to strangers. I ducked behind our kitchen counter and peered out behind a curtain, leaning over so I could get a look of who was standing on our porch.

Barely even a glimpse. _Barely even a glimpse_, and there was that tug. That tug on my chest, jolting me forward, kick-starting my heart, and-

_No._ This was not happening again.

He was there. Seth was there, on my porch, and our front door, gazing in worriedly through one of the window panes. Wait, scratch that. Now he was turning his head, something catching his attention in my dir-

Our eyes met.

I let the curtain drop, backing up so quickly I hit my head on a cabinet.

Stop it, stop it, stop it…

I let myself slide down the wall, so that I was hunched over on the floor, head between my legs. Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat. He looked at you. He only _freaking looked at you_. No reason to go have a heart attack. You're okay. Stand up, and answer the door like a normal person. He already knows you're here, don't think about running out the back door.

But, oh gosh, his eyes were so _dark_, and it just felt like they had seen so far into me, and, and…

No. Answer the door. I stood up, quickly looking down to see what I was wearing. Jeans. Tank top. I was given a brief shot of courage with the fact that I was, thank you God, wearing a bra. It was the first thing that had gone right that day.

All right.

All right. You're opening the door. You are opening the door, and you're not going to run, you are going to stand right here and talk to him. Three, two, one…

His face looked like someone had switched a light bulb over it. Before it had been cast in shadows, worry lines etched on his forehead that a fifteen year should not have. It now lighted up, mouth immediately stretching into a beaming smile, those dark eyes crinkling up in relief…

The string in my chest, tugging me forward, making it hard to breathe…

He leaned his hand against the door frame, closer to me then he had ever been.

"Bailey?"


	6. Why Did I Shut the Door?

I stared up at him, having to crane my neck up so much that I almost felt ridiculous. Something inside of me felt skittery, like a bird flapping its wings against the metal bars of a cage. I swallowed hard against the wall in my throat.

When I didn't answer, his face changed.

"Bailey… that- that is your name, right?"

He hid his eyes from me for a split second, looking down at the ground apologetically, like something was hurting him. This broke the tether he had tied around me the minute I opened the door, and the rational part of my brain (I had to search a little bit for it) stepped up. Answer him, Bailey.

"I- yeah," I let out a staggered breath. Answer him better, Bailey. "That's me."

The sound of my voice elicited a breath-taking smile on his part, and he scooped me up in his eyes again.

"Bailey…" he said quietly, staring at my face.

In a normal conversation, this would be the time in which an awkward silence would usually come knocking. In a normal conversation, I would become very interested in a bracelet I always wore so I had something to do with my eyes instead of looking at people when I talked to them, the other person would hopelessly try to save the conversation, and in the end I would quickly walk away mumbling something about having to go to the bathroom.

But this was not a conversation.

Not only because it was between me and a boy, an actual _boy_, and also not because it was at a rather odd hour in the morning.

But also because, yes, there was a silence, but it was in no way awkward. He was staring at my face, in the way that made it very hard to look away, with an expression that was, that was…

He looked like he was seeing for the first time.

I lifted both of my arms up, curling them around my chest. There was the rope. Tug, tug…

I jerked my head down. Think. There was something that you were going to ask him, something that was really important and how could I have forgotten what I was—

Oh. Right.

Swallow. Breathe. Swallow again. Wrap my arms tighter around myself.

"Why are you here?"

It surprised me how my voice sounded. It had been so long since I had heard it without it being obscured with my familiar stutters and pauses. I liked it better this way.

I dared to look back up at him again. He was still staring at me, but his eyes became less focused, like he had remembered something too.

"Oh, right. Hey, about yesterday-" Yesterday? Oh. Right. Parking lot. That was only yesterday?

His eyes turned imploring now, begging for something, but I had no idea what.

"I didn't scare you, did I?" His face shadowed, in the way that made me sad. I wanted to— no, Bailey. Keep your hands to yourself.

"Of course I did," he muttered to himself. He looked back at me.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean- I never wanted- to make you afraid. I just- I just saw you and…"

He somehow managed to seem to peer up at me, even though he was a foot taller. He looked timid, begging for forgiveness.

I nodded. It's okay, Seth. Anything you do is okay with me.

His expression changed again, sweeping me up with it.

"You shouldn't have been riding your bike in the rain, anyways. Shouldn't have been outside at all, in weather like that. You could have gotten hurt."

His hand resting on the door stop, seemed to involuntarily reach down to- to- well, I don't know to do what, because I flinched away, completely inexperienced with being this close to a member of the opposite sex that I wasn't related to.

He looked confused for a moment, his features reverting back to being boyish, as if the thought that I would shy away from him had never even crossed his mind.

"You- you never answered my question. Why are you here?"

"Wha- oh. I just wanted to make sure you were okay and everything. You_ are_ okay, right?"

He reached out for me again, that same second-nature act, his hand just grazing my arm.

My body reacted involuntarily; excited little shivers fizzing in my bones, lightning bugs sparking to light in my veins. His touch felt like fire.

That was stupid. He had barely even _touched_ me, for God's sake. The unwelcome fear that I had felt yesterday started to bubble up.

I looked down, letting my hair slip over my shoulders.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I love the rain."

What the heck, Bailey? What was _that_? You do _not_ blurt out random pieces of information about yourself to an almost-stranger. Send him away before you start babbling out your life story.

His impossibly broad shoulders, hugged by a tee-shirt that you could tell was soft and had seen better days, leaned forward, his eyes sparking at that little piece of information. He looked like a kid who had just been given a present, and I knew that if I wanted to send him away I couldn't be looking at his eyes while doing it.

"Really? Wh-"

"Seth-" never, in my memory, had I interrupted anybody, and the shock of it made me have to stop for a moment. I squirmed by the doorway, unwrapping one of my arms from my chest, but then putting it back. I would detach if I didn't hold myself together.

"You should… you should go."

He looked wounded.

"What? Why?"

"Don't you have school?"

"Oh. Yeah." He made a face. "But I don't think the teachers will miss me."

I gaped at him. What was he planning on doing, hanging out at my house for the rest of the day?

Yes please.

_No Bailey_.

"You can't-"

"By the way, why are you staying at home today? You said you were okay. You're not sick, are you?"

"Please go."

He stopped in the middle of something he was about to say. I made the mistake of looking up, and I had to look at my hands to make sure that I hadn't accidentally stabbed him or something, because that was what his face looked like. I just nicely asked him to leave— why did he look so hurt?

"I'm sorry." His voice was quiet. Rough.

I shook my head, trying not to let that voice get to me. Too late. His pain inexplicably brought me pain.

"Is there something I'm doing, Bailey? I really am sorry. I don't know what I was thinking yesterday, and- and I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and… and I _needed _ to see you. I can't even explain how- Bailey?"

He _needed_ to see me. It made no sense. He did not know me. And yet, that sentence brought me as much happiness as Christmas morning. Possibly even more, if that was possible.

I was scared. What was happening?

I realized that I had kind of gasped, and he took a step forward towards me, angling his body so that I felt like I was trapped in the doorway. No, not trapped… caught. I was caught.

"Please talk to me. Are you okay?"

I was confused and scared and I could smell him because he was so close and, oh my gosh, he smelled _so good_, and I could feel the heat coming off of him, and my brain felt like it had just gone through a blender.

So, of course, like the idiot I am, I ended up mumbling some halfway-coherent thoughts about him having to go back to school, and pushed the door shut harder than I expected. The roll-up blind banged against the inside of the door as I stood there, staring at it.

Opening the door back up would officially make me desperate, right?

The problem was, I was desperate. Absolutely.

I balled up my fists and clenched them as hard as I could, gritting my teeth.

What had just happened?

"Bailey? Bailey, please…" I could hear his voice, muffled through the door.

Open it back up, don't open it. Open it back up, don't open it. Open it back up-

Yes. Do it Bailey.

A second too late. I could hear his steps as they descended our porch.

I waited a minute, then peeked out the blinds and watched him get back in his car.

He looked back at me, and I let it drop again.

Wasn't he only 15? How did he have a car?

I would not regret shutting the door on him. It was the right thing to do. He was skipping class.

I would not think about how his face looked when he first saw me in the door. I would not think about how hurt he looked when I told him to go away.

I was going to sit down and eat my breakfast and do anything but think about him.

Fifteen minutes later, when I had come to the conclusion that that wasn't going to work, I finally gave in.

I had known him for two years. I had had a conversation with him for all of five minutes. I did not know how I felt about him.

But there was one thing I could not deny: if he didn't show up at school tomorrow, I would be heartbroken.


	7. A Confrontation by Leah

Seth has a sister.

Her name is Leah Clearwater. She is very tall and imposing in an, "I could beat you up, sistah," kind of way.

I did not know any of this until she cornered me by my locker the next day.

"You," she snarled, pressing the edge of her textbook against my chest when I turned around. I hit my locker door with my back, slamming it shut

"What did you do to my brother?"

She was pressing so hard with her textbook that it made it difficult to breathe. I stared at her.

What had _I _done to _her_ brother? The question should've been: what had _he_ done to _me_.

After he had left yesterday, it felt impossible to do anything. I had been determined to study, only to throw my math textbook across my bedroom when formulas that I had only learned last week would not make sense. Tried to sleep, but I couldn't stay still. Tried to play basketball with Ian (a desperate last attempt), but after I air-balled and it went over the fence into our neighbors yard for the fifth time, he got frustrated with me and stopped playing.

It was especially bad in the middle of the night, when I was laying there with nothing else to think about but how good he had smelled, standing in our doorway. And after three hours of sleep, guess what I first thought about when I woke up this morning?

It was obsessive. I scared myself.

"Answer me." She seemed to think that if she stared at me hard enough, it would squeeze the answer out.

"I-I-" I felt like a fish washed up on land.

She sighed and took her textbook back. She stared down at me for a moment.

"He looked torn up when he came home yesterday. What did you say to him?"

Torn up.

"I'm sorry," I said, remembering the pain on his face.

"What? I don't want your apology. What happened?"

"He- he just, he came to my house…"

"And?"

"I told him that- that, he shouldn't- or that, uh, he should go. Back to school, I mean. He came during school. To my house."

Her face hardened, eyes narrowing. She might have been beautiful if she wasn't scowling so much.

"That's it? You just told him to go back to school?"

I nodded with unnecessary vigor.

She let out a short, frustrated breath, jerking her head away from me. The bell rang. First period.

"Fine."

She started walking away, swinging her textbook up and catching it in the other hand. I stayed frozen by my locker.

"Hey," she said abruptly, turning around again, "Just… be nice to Seth, okay?"

Her eyes softened when she said Seth's name.

She started to turn back around, but stopped.

"His- our- dad died. That's why he was out for a couple weeks."

His dad _died_? How did I not know this? Harry Clearwater. I had met him once at the school picnic where I had first seen Seth. He was very nice. My heart twisted when I thought of how Seth must have felt. I could only imagine how hard it must be to lose a dad that actually loved you.

Me and Leah's eyes met for a second, and I nodded once. Don't worry. I'll take care of him. I think I would do anything for him.

She walked away in the opposite direction, and I watched her dark hair bob above the crowd of students rushing to get to class. She looked too old to be in high school, even a senior. It had less to do with how her features looked, and more to do with the anger that they held.

I felt guilty for some reason. The kind of feeling you would feel after you eat something without thinking, and then look back at the nutrition label to find out that it had seventeen grams of saturated fat. You know that feeling?

But it made no sense. Confusing. I wouldn't think about it.

I checked my watch. Four hours, thirty-seven minutes until 5th period.

* * *

Leah POV

I walked away down the school hallway and out the back door meant for janitors, not entirely sure why I had come here.

Yesterday Seth had come home after school, looking like he had been run over by a truck.

"I think I screwed it up," he said, lacing his hands and putting them behind his head.

"What?"

"With Bailey."

Right. Bailey, Bailey, Bailey… Emily had told me that I should get used to the name. We had found it out just yesterday when Seth had come home, soaking wet, and a completely different person then who had walked out the door that morning. Embry and Quil, the only two guys in the pack who Sam still made go to school, had been with him.

I thought it was beyond stupid. He had had to look up her name in the yearbook— how can you pledge yourself to someone for the rest of your life, if you don't even _know her name_?

I felt like I had just lost my brother. Now there would be another overtly-protective, lovesick voice that I would have to listen to whenever I was a wolf, reminding me of just how entirely alone I was.

The only good thing that had come out of it was that after he saw her-_her_- Bailey, Seth had seemed truly happy. He took the whole shape-shifting thing pretty well, better then I was taking it. But still, I knew that our dad's death had been hard on him. He was only fifteen, and now he would be forced to grow up, thrown into a screwed up world overridden by evil bloodsuckers.

He hadn't even known what imprinting was. He was aware of how it felt, through Sam and Jared and Quil's minds, but he wasn't even really sure what it was.

"What happened?"

"She shut the door."

"That's it?"

"She told me to go away." He sat down heavily on the couch, putting his head in his hands.

"Why did you?"

"Because I _had_ to, Leah. That was what she wanted."

"…oh."

I sat down on the couch next to him, waiting for a little bit, not knowing how to comfort him.

"The worst part," he said, a couple minutes later, "was the look in her eyes. She looked scared. Scared of _me_. I just- I- I can't-" He was shaking, though this time I didn't even know if it was because of the werewolf gene. He looked angry at himself, closer to tears then I had ever seen him, even at our father's funeral.

It made me angry. So angry that the world around me started vibrating. Bailey had _no_ place to go messing with my brother. She didn't even understand what was going on. I knew that Seth would readily give his life for her, and she probably didn't even care.

This was why, the next day, I found myself stalking through the halls of La Push high school, probably scaring a few freshmen.

I found her by what I expected was her locker.

"You," I said. She turned around, her eyes expectant. I pressed a textbook that I had found in the lost-and-found against her chest, trapping her there, my anger suddenly welling up.

But after only a moment, I could feel my resolve against her softening.

First off, she was tiny. Easily a foot shorter then I was, and skinny in the type of way that made me feel like if I tried, I could snap her in half like a chopstick.

Whoa, Leah. Don't think that.

She looked terrified, staring up at me. I glared at her. _Don't let her get to you_. _You're angry, remember?_

"Answer me."

"I-I-"

Her eyes were wide, frozen, like a little kitten or something. And I was the big, scary, dog.

I sighed and took my textbook away.

"He looked torn up yesterday when he came home yesterday. What did you say to him?" I aked, wincing at the memory. She probably wouldn't understand.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking down.

She's sorry? Really?

"What? I don't want your apology. What happened?"

"He- he just, he came to my house…"

"And?"

"I told him that- that, he shouldn't- or that, uh, he should go. Back to school, I mean. He came during school. To my house."

She stuttered and choked nervously over her words, anxiously playing with a bracelet on her wrist. I wondered if she was always this shy. I wasn't sure whether I believed her or not.

"That's it? You just told him to go back to school?"

She nodded desperately.

I shouldn't be angry at her-right? Some guy who you don't know—even if he does love you more then you will ever understand— shows up at your house during school hours. I would tell him to go away, too.

I looked down at her again, at the top of her head, which was covered in messy black hair in pulled up into a ponytail. I let out a frustrated breath. I wish I hadn't come. She seemed really scared of me.

"Fine." I started walking away, but then turned back when I remembered the reason I had come here. This was for Seth.

"Hey. Just… be nice to Seth, okay?"

I remembered his tortured expression from yesterday. This girl could either make him extremely happy, or end up killing him inside.

"His-our-dad died. That's why he was out for a couple weeks," I explained.

Her face turned pained, something that I hadn't expected, her eyebrows drawing down.

She met my stare, and nodded once.

I didn't approve of the imprinting, but for Seth's sake, I prayed that she let him into her life. Otherwise, I was seriously worried aboout how pleasant my hom-situation would be for... well, the rest of my life.

I turned and walked away. Jared and I had patrol duty. If I was lucky, I might get to kill something today.

**First: I swear to God I felt like I had died and gone to heaven when I saw that I got TEN new reviews on the last chapter. I know I say it eveyr time, but thank you all so much  
**

**Second: I'm so sorry I didn't update yesterday. I ended up falling asleep over my laptop on our living room couch. Thank goodness summer is soon...  
**

**Third: Please tell me your opinion on the Leah POV. I put it in because she is going to have a big part later on in the story. Also, I feel like Bailey sees herself differently then other people see her, so I thought another POV might be beneficial. If you guys don't like it, though, I won't do anymore.  
**

**Please tell me what you think, and don't worry, the next chapter will be all Seth/Bailey!**


	8. I'll Be Seeing You Soon

I sat down carefully in study hall, not even trying to pretend like I wasn't scoping out the room for a special someone.

I hadn't expected this. Nervous as heck about what I would say, dreading the moment when he would have to go away, angry for feeling this way… But him being AWOL wasn't part of the plan.

Every little doubt that had been quietly roosting in my mind since yesterday made themselves known.

Of course he's not here, Bailey. Why would he be? Why would he bother with a girl whose constant companion is the awkward turtle and who always has cat hair on her clothes?  
It's not even my fault.

Our cat is very affectionate, and he has a crapload of fur.

For some absurd reason I felt like crying. Gosh, Bailey. Stop it. I set up my textbook and set my head on the desk, affectively separating me from the rest of the classroom. If I couldn't see them, they couldn't see me, right?

I shouldn't have even gotten my hopes up. Stupid hormones. I saw him once. He probably wasn't even genuinely worried about me. He probably told his mom or something about what had happened and she made him go check on me out of common courtesy.

But if that was the case, would he have said he _needed_ me? The hopeful part of my brain was fighting back.

Shut up, I told it.

Concentrate on your math. Do not worry about Seth Clearwater. He is—

"Hey, Bailey."

I felt his scorching presence making the back of my neck tingle. I whipped my face around, startled. I only made it halfway around before the textbook toppled down on my face.

His hand was there in a second, catching it before it could fall to the floor, and placing it gently back on the desk. The heat radiating off of him was made slightly less by the rush of warmth that now spread over my face.

_Smooth, Bailey. _

"H-hi," I said, staring up at him, feeling especially small sitting in my chair

"I'm sorry," he said, hand still on the textbook.

Right, I thought, because it's your fault that the stupid textbook hates me.

But then I looked up at him and his eyes were so dark that I got the feeling he wasn't just apologizing for that.

"S'fine," I said, looking down. His stare made me feel exposed. Like the first day in spring when it's finally warm enough to wear shorts, and the sun feels so weird on your skin because it's been hiding under jeans for the past six months.

He sighed softly, sitting down in the desk next to me. I fumbled with the textbook again, determined to have something to look at other than him.

I fluttered around with my notebook paper for a little while, somehow managing drop my pencil twice.

As evidenced by yesterday, I couldn't do anything right when I wasn't with him, and now I couldn't do anything right without him, either. Where did that leave me?

Finally I just gave up, staring at my desk.

"Bailey?"

His voice was patient in a teacher-trying-to-explain-something-to-a-little-kid way.

When I looked up at him, his eyes were sad, but I could see the corners of his mouth fighting not to twitch up.

Make an idiot of yourself: check.

"Are you okay?"

"I- I think so."

Honest answer. Probably shouldn't have said it out loud, though.

"I think… I think I'm doing this wrong." He leaned down so he was almost at my eye-level, his forearms resting on his knees. "Can we start over?"

I nodded, my hair falling into my face. Even though I wasn't really sure what he meant, I liked the sound of that idea.

"That would be nice."

He gave me a half-smile.

"Good. I don't think we ever really met. My name's Seth Clearwater."

He reached out his hand to me. I stared at it. His eyebrows quirked up.

Oh, right. I'm supposed to shake it.

But that wasn't really what happened. When our hands met, his hand swallowing up mine, he didn't let go.

I've always found people's hands interesting. At church every Sunday you have to shake the hand of the person next to you. There's Ian's iron grip, always playfully squeezing my hand seemingly hard enough to break bones. My mother's, dry and rough from seventeen years of washing dishes. The acne-faced college student behind us with the floppy, sweaty grasp, the old grandmother with her feathery, barely-there touch…

And then there was Seth.

His hands were warm and sure of themselves and safe and they slipped over my hand like a cozy glove.

I didn't pull away.

"Bailey Conr- I mean, Clera," I said, correcting myself before I could give my step-father's last name, the one that I had used for the first fifteen and a half years of my life. I was pretty sure that my last name was Quileute—somewhere along the line my mother was a relative of their tribe, which was why we had moved back here after she and him had divorced and we had had nowhere to go.

Very distant relative, I might add. Wouldn't that stink if I found out that Seth was actually my second-cousin or something? Ew. Kissing cousins. Not that me and Seth were ever going to get ther.

His eyebrows raised up when I stumbled over my own name, but he kept his gaze down to his hands, where he was playing with my fingers. It was _extremely_ hard to concentrate while he was doing this, every little movement sending a lightning rod zinging up my arm.

"Tell me something about you."

I shrugged, somehow embarrassed by this.

"Not much to tell," I mumbled. He laughed softly, shaking his head

"That's not true at all. Tell me something you like," he prompted, and when I didn't answer, "What about something you _don't_ like?'

"Personal questions," I answered honestly, and he laughed again, his face lighting up, and I never wanted him to stop.

"Fine then… what about your favorite color?"

"It… depends."

"On what?"

I shrugged again.

"Don't know. I like pink when it's in cupcakes or flowers… but not when it's in medicine. Or socks."

_Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, dear lord, why did I just say that, what earthly force could have prompted that to come out my mouth, you wonder why you don't have any friends, Bailey? This is why. Because you're always saying random, _stupid_ stuff-_

"I know how you feel. I've never really liked green until a little while ago."

I looked up at him, and his lips pursed a little as he studied my face.

"But not green like a stoplight, more… hazel. With little flecks of blue in them."

I blushed, and smiled despite myself.

Of course he wasn't talking about your eyes, Bailey. I had asked Ian what color he thought they were once, and he said the color of wet sidewalk.

But hey, I could dream…

"Have you always lived here?"

I shook my head. "No. Only for one and a half years."

"Where'de you move from?"

"Iowa."

"Why?"

Uh-oh.

I bit my lip and turned away, the blush being pushed away by the coldness of the memories that accompanied the move to La Push.

"Hey, wait," he said, reaching for my face to turn it back. "Don't do that," he begged, but when his heat grazed my cheek I jumped and jerked away from him, snatching my hand from him, still being held in his other palm.

I turned back around to face the whiteboard, not even sure how I had gotten to be facing him in the first place. I pretended to look at my textbook, and tried to move as little as possible.

Great job, Bailey. You couldn't have just said, "Oh, for family reasons." Or, even better, "My mother got a new job. She's now the proud accountant of a kwilting store."

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye.

My heart broke. His hands were still held out in front of him, as if they didn't know what to do with themselves.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out, before he could. I turned back to him.

"My mom is an accountant."

I don't know how that explained anything, but he didn't push it.

The rest of the study hall period passed quicker than it ever had before. We didn't touch again, or talk again. I safely kept my eyes on my pre-calculus, so distracted by the feel of his eyes on the side of my face that I didn't even realize that it upside down until ten minutes later.

What was he doing, memorizing my face? I could imagine that I could feel his heat burning that side of my face through his gaze. What were the other students thinking? This was a public place, you know.

Actually, I was lying to myself. I loved it.

At the end of the period as the bell rang, I carefully put away my things, wondering what he would do.

"What would you do if I showed up at your house this week-end?" he asked me.

How do you know where I live?

Oh. Right.

I took a deep breath and let my eyes travel up his long, lean form, muscles defined even through the fabric…

"Are you taking hypothetically?"

"Would you tell me to go away?" He asked, ignoring my question.

I thought about this honestly.

Would I?

I didn't honestly know. If he had the look on his face that he had on right now, no. I wouldn't.

"Probably not," I tried to say, but it came out in a whisper.

A small smile, the ghost of what had been on his face earlier while I babbled on about my color preferences, lit his face up. I saw the cheerful fifteen year old again.

"Then I'll be seeing you soon."


	9. Get Your Boxers Off The Ceiling Fan

**Today was the last day of school for me! Yay! Until further notice, I will be updating every other day.**

**I was thinking about this story a bunch and I finally have it all planned out in my head and I have to tell you that I am SO EXCITED to write it! Please tell me of what you think of Ian, because he has a big role in future chapters… **

**Enjoy! **

The next morning, I had reason to believe that the world was ending and life as I knew it would forever be changed.

Why? Because Ian actually woke up earlier then 11:00 in the morning. And this was on a _week-end_. And not only was he awake and fully functioning, he was actually decently clothed (minus a shirt, but still, it could be worse), and was just walking in through our back door when I came downstairs.

"Hey Bail," he chirped as I stumbled into our kitchen, still half asleep.

This morning I had woken up absurdly happy. Why, you might ask? No, it wasn't because I was a huge procrastinator and was really excited about cramming all of my final exam studying into a two day period, nor was it because I had to cook four dairy-less deserts (Mark-from-work was lactose intolerant) for a Kwilting office party. Which, by the way, thanks a lot mom. You couldn't have just signed up for the veggie platter?

Anyways, my reason for smiling as soon as I woke up this morning was because of this:

_"Then I'll being seeing you soon."_

For some reason, the thought that I might see Seth soon just made me so…so..._happy_. I knew it was ridiculous. But the thing was, I was hacing trouble finding reasons to care why my feelings for him were so absurd.

"Hey," I said back, stifling a yawn. "Where were you?"

He shrugged. "Nowhere. Out walking."

I snorted.

"Right. You woke up at seven in the morning to take a morning stroll." I scrummaged up a frozen waffle from our freezer and set it in the microwave.

"Yup."

I looked at him. He looked tired. "Ian. I'm serious. Where were you?"

"I'm serious too. None of your beeswax."

"I know you're lying."

"No you don't. Why do you care?"

"Well, I-I don't," I said defensively. "I was just wondering."

"And I told you. I was just… walking."

"This doesn't have anything to do with the phone call you gave me on Wednesday, right?"

"Are you still obsessing about that?"

"I'm not obsessing. I just want to know what's going on." I hoisted myself onto our counter and sat down, watching the little timer on the microwave tick down. Ian picked up one of his boxers from his laundry basket and flicked me with it before throwing it up and catching it with the other hand.

"That's your problem. You worry too much."

"I'm not worried," I mumbled. He didn't say anything for a minute, tossing back up the plaid-checkered underwear again.

"On a completely different note, I got a job."

What? Ian… a _job_? Where did that come from? He turned fifteen in two weeks- was he even old enough to work?

"Um… okay. Where?"

"Don't get angry, kay? Or tell mom."

Uh-oh.

"Are you selling drugs, Ian?"

"No. Prostitution."

I stared at him, mouth open, momentarily too appalled to speak. He threw his boxers again.

He turned to smirk at me, mid-throw.

"Kidding, Bail. And you say you don't worry too much."

"Oh my gosh," I said, not even bothering to be angry at him in my relief. "You are an _idiot_."

He laughed.

"No. It's actually at a gas station."

The microwave beeped.

"You're still kidding, right?"

"Nope. But don't worry. It's not _that_ bad. It's the one right around the road, and I get five bucks per hour."

"But… a _gas station_? Why at a gas station? What do you even do?"

"Not much. That's the best part. I don't have to do anything, but I still get paid. And the reason why I got the job was cause they had a help sign, and so I was like, what the hell? Why not, you know?"

"Ian. It's at a _gas station_."

"Um. Yeah. We've already been over that."

"Is it one of those creepy ones that sells condoms in their bathroom?"

"Yup." He turned to smile at me. "And lottery tickets."

I shook my head, but couldn't help but smile. I took my plate out of the microwave, burning my hand in the process.

He threw his boxers up in the air again. I wish he would stop. Would if Seth walked in the door?

"Are you gonna tell mom?" I asked.

"She already knows."

"She does?"

…How? Since when has Ian told mom something before he told me?

I _knew_ that there was something he wasn't telling me. I just didn't know whether it was important enough or not for me to push it.

Me and Ian's relationship had always been blessedly easy. One of the things that had scared me most when we moved to La Push was that I would lose Ian. That the friendship we had had been made out of necessity. Safety in numbers.

And what would I do then, if I lost him? He was the only who actually saw _it_ happen. He was the only one who knew _everything_. Even mom didn't know. Sometimes I wondered if I actually loved her.

But it hadn't changed anything. He had stayed my annoying younger brother who knew why I was so shy, was able to say the right thing on the nights when I would really start to lose it, and was always, _always _hungry.

He grabbed a granola bar from a pile on our counter, catching site of my poor waffle. I think the box had said 1 ¼ minutes, not _4_ ¼ minutes. Oops.

"Um, I think you were supposed to put that in the microwave, Bail. Not the burning fires of hell or something." I laughed.

"I'm serious. Like, what did you do to it?" He pushed it with his granola bar, and it fell onto the counter with a _thunk_ reminiscent of a hockey puck. "I think you dehydrated it."

"Shut up," I muttered, swatting at him.

The door bell rang.

I gasped involuntarily.

"What?"

I didn't answer, shoving past him to get to the window. Yup.

He was already looking at the window, expecting that I would peek out. I shut the curtain, trying to hide my sloppy smile.

I looked back at Ian. Shirtless, and, God bless him, with his boxers on the ceiling fan. I _knew_ I should have told him to stop doing that.

"Oh my gosh, Ian, get your freaking underwear off of the fan-"

"Wait, who is it?"

"_Get your_-"

"Calm down, Bail. I'm working on it." He took a kitchen knife and reached up, trying to push it off. No such luck. "Who is it?"

"It's Seth Clearwater. Can you please just put on a shirt and-"

"Wait, what?" he looked at me and froze, in the middle of trying to position a chair underneath the fan.

"It's Seth. Would you please hurry the _heck_ up and-"

"Seth Clearwater? Why is _he _here?" He made a face. I immediately became defensive.

"He came to see me. Do you have something against him?"

"Are you guys dating or something?"

Huh. I wish. "_No_, we're not dating, but he is waiting right outside our door right now and so I would _really _appreciate it if you would hurry up and get your underwear-"

"Just hold on a sec, Bail. If you guys aren't dating then why is he even here?"

"Because- I-well-" I struggled for words. Why _was _he here? At seven in the morning, nonetheless.

"He- he's my friend."

"Really? His sister's a bi- I mean, jerk."

"What? How do you know his sister?"

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it.

So _this _was what he wasn't telling me. But what did it have to do with Leah?

"Whatever. Nevermind."

I was getting really sick of this. He was going to have to tell me sometime. But, at the moment, Seth was probably thinking that I had gone and died or something instead of answering the door, and I nearly tripped in my rush to open it.

And just like that, as I opened the door, I was lost for the words that I could find so easily with Ian.

"Finally," he said, standing on my porch in the early morning sun. He smiled at me. "I was starting to worry about you. Can I come in?"


	10. Butterfly

**The poem is adapted by me, originally written by Mark R. Slaughter. Enjoy!**

"_Upon a fuzzy vista-vision blurred- I tried to focus; nothing ever solid came to view, but undeterred, I blinked an eye to try again._

_Through the mist a colored hue; polychromatic flames had flickered at a whim. A rhythm bore a thrumming too: a naturalistic hymn. Behold, were I to find a synonym to reproduce or recreate the apparition of a butterfly, evolving through the waning vapor._"

He finished the poem, dragging out the last syllable so that it stuck in my ears.

His voice was deep and gentle, like a backdrop for a sunset. It did funny things to my stomach.

"What do you think?"

I slid my eyes over to his, across the dining room table.

I think that you're beautiful and funny. I think I want you to like me, to like me more than just somebody who you study with on the week-end.

"I've always hated poetry," he said, when he realized I wasn't going to answer. "I like it when people just say what they're thinking."

Well, then. I'm not the girl for you.

"Instead they have to hide it behind all of this philosophical crap," he continued, shutting the binder so that he could look at me.

I could see where he was coming from, but I didn't agree. Poetry had always appealed to me. It was easier to say what you meant if you didn't say have to it directly. If you covered up the true meaning with a bunch of beautiful words, strung together in beautiful ways. I wish I could write poetry.

I wonder if Seth would be able to see past all of the distraction, and understand what I was really getting at. If, of course, I ever figured out what that was.

"I don't think they're hiding it," I said quietly. "They're just… saying it in a prettier way."

He raised his eyebrows at me. "Go on."

"Like… do you know any of Shakespeare's work?"

"Not at all."

"Okay... what about any nursery rhymes?"

"Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?"

I smiled. "That'll work. Now think about the words," I told him, getting excited. I loved to nerd over poetry.

"Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are. It sounds so much _prettier_ then "shiny thing in sky: what is it?" Don't you think? And the wording—"like a diamond in the sky," lets you interpret it in your own way, you know? Because it could be about a person wondering about the creation of the Earth, or it could be about somebody who saw something amazing that they don't understand. Almost everybody knows the rhyme, and at the same time almost everybody can think about it in a different way, and only poetry lets you do that, and… and…"

I puttered off, embarrassed by the babble of words that had just come, uninvited, out of my mouth, and the intense way he was looking at me. He was studying my face the way he had studied the poem.

"Thank you."

"I- what?"

"Thank you," he repeated. "I've never heard you say more than ten words at a time. That was very insightful.

I blushed.

He looked down at the poem again, rereading it.

"What do _you _think it's about? We're supposed to be interpreting this for the exam, after all."

"The poem?"

"Yeah." He held it out to me, and as I took it from him his hand brushed mine. Scorching shivers.

_Stop it_, said the rational part of my brain. _Shut up_, the rest of my body told it.

I reread it, liking the way it sounded in my mind. That was another thing about poetry: it was easy to read. No pauses, no stutters. Smooth.

"I think… I think it's about somebody waking up to a new life."

He nodded.

"Maybe after something bad happened."

He stopped mid-nod.

"Because of the "eyes opening," and the flames they talk about. And then he or she is thinking about their past life, about something beautiful. That's the butterfly, and they're thinking about how they wish that, in the dark world they're in, they want something bright and beautiful. Again- I mean. But it's gone."

I hoped he understood what I was trying to say. I hoped he didn't think I was weird.

He pressed his lips together, still looking at the poem. I wished that he would look up so that I could see his eyes.

"I think you're wrong," he said after a moment.

"Well-" I started, slightly offended, but he cut me off.

"I think you're right about somebody waking up to a new world. But it's not because something bad happened."

He stopped looking at the poem, and instead looked at me, looking at him. It was like I was a fish, caught on a hook. I found it extremely hard to look away.

"It's because they saw something beautiful, so beautiful that they know that they could never replicate it. And seeing it changed their life, and they know they'll never go back to being the same person."

I swallowed hard. He was thinking of somebody when he said that, I could tell. Even though he was looking at me, there was still a film behind his eyes, probably where he was imagining my face as hers. Jealousy welled up inside of me so strong, a deep, poignant ache deep in my chest.

Four days. We had only known each other for _four days_.

Did he have a girlfriend?

"And that's what the butterfly is. The beautiful thing. Delicate, bright… beautiful."

On the word beautiful he smiled, his eyes crinkling up, and it gave me the momentary lapse I needed to look away.

Wish it was me. Wish it was me _so bad_.

"Study break," I choked out. "Are you hungry? We have stuff to eat. What do you want?"

He grabbed his wrist with his other hand and stretched out, looking like the bear sitting in Goldilock's chair. He was entirely too big to look proportionate in our little kitchen.

"Well, food would be nice, but in a pinch I'll also take wooden spoons."

I stared at him for a couple of moments.

"I'm joking, Bailey. Laugh."

"Oh!" I said, feeling stupid. Ha ha. That was funny.

"Yeah- I'll just- um, get- get some…"

I scurried into our kitchen and bent down underneath our counter to grab plates, intensely glad for the chance to hide my face from him in my embarrassment. I heard him laugh quietly.

While I cut up apples and placed them on a plate, happy to have something useful to put my nervous energy towards, Seth made himself at home in our kitchen.

He walked around the room, opening cabinets and fingering paintings tacked onto a bulletin board that I had made when I was six.

It was hard to pay attention to what I was doing instead of watching him— he just looked so _interested_ in everything. His interest made me feel special. I liked the feeling.

At the moment he had seen a picture of me, one of those small black and white ones that you take in a photo booth in a cheap mall. It was set up on the ledge of a high window, and he reached up to get it.

The movement stretched out all six-and-a-half feet of him beautifully. His shirt bunched between his shoulder blades and back muscles, hiking up to show a sliver of the hard-packed skin on his stomach…

I caught my breath and violently cut the core out of an apple.

"This is you, right?"

I nodded.

"You look… different."

"Different bad, or different good?"

"You could never look _bad_, Bailey. Just different."

He stared at the tiny picture in his huge hands.

"When was it taken?"

"About a year ago, I think."

"Do you remember it?"

I laughed lightly. "No, why would I?"

My laugh broke through the serious pensiveness on his face, and he glanced at me, laughing quickly, but then returned to the picture. I couldn't imagine what he found so interesting about it.

Like I said, I didn't remember when it had been taken, but Ian must've been doing something stupid because I was in the middle of laughing really hard.

You could barely see my features in the picture because it was so small, which I guessed was a good thing. I could be pretty when I had make-up on, but most people were. My hair was dark brown and right between straight and wavy, with permanent cow-licks sticking out behind the ears. Wet-cement eyes, according to Ian, and some freckles on an average nose.

The only thing I particularly disliked about myself was my smile. When I smiled it made me look really happy, but at the same time it wasn't photogenic _at all_. My lips stretched out too wide, teeth not quite symmetrical despite braces for three years… I tended to cover up my mouth when I laughed.

But this photo was grainy enough and I was laughing enough that you couldn't see any of the ugly, just the happy.

"Do you have any more of these?" He asked abruptly. I shook my head.

He looked so crestfallen that I was tempted to add, "No, but you can just have that one. Nobody here really looks at it anyway." I wanted him to have a piece of me.

But then he put it back on the table and I lost my chance.

After easily eating almost all of the items in our pantry and explaining a pre-calculus problem to me four times before I finally got it, Seth went home. He said that he had something that he had to do, and that he would see me on Monday.

I hid behind my textbook, trying not to let him see how disappointed I was.

Things were so easy when Seth was here.

We could be very good friends.

"Why?" It came out before I could stop it, and I regretted it. I didn't want him to think I was nosy.

He picked up the textbook in one hand and set it aside so that our eyes could meet again.

He opened his mouth, and his face was so serious that if he had said something like, "To kill the president," I would have believed him. But then he closed it again and backed away from me and smiled.

"Nevermind. It's nothing. Just to help my parents."

I put my head on my hands. "Oh. That's fine."

Of course that was fine. I couldn't expect him to _want_ to spend more time with me. After all, we were just friends. You hear that, Bailey? Just friends.

Even if he is really cute and has nice eyes makes you feel special.

He reached out his hand, lightly bringing up my chin. Hesitantly. He must've been remembering the last time he had tried to touch me.

"You _will _be there on Monday, right?"

Suddenly he was very close. Were all people this hot? It didn't seem normal. He felt feverish, and I felt guilty for enjoying it so much.

I nodded, one sharp movement. It was all I could manage.

"Good."

His hand trailed up my jawbone, lightly fluttering my hair, and leaving me on fire and finding it quite difficult to breathe. His hands looked too large to be as gentle as they felt.

After he left, I fell into a routine that I think I was going to become increasingly accustomed to.

Try to work. Try to read. Try not to think about Seth. Try to eat. Try to sleep. Try not to think about Seth.

If I had something to do, it was easier. At least I thought it was, until Sunday afternoon, when something happened that left all of my thoughts permanently on Seth.

I found it in our mailbox.

It was the tiny photo of me. How had that gotten there?

There was a note attached, that fluttered to the ground when I picked up the photo. There was a crudely drawn smiley face on the outside, and somehow I knew exactly who it was from.

_To my butterfly,_

_I made a copy of this picture. I hope you don't mind._

_-Seth_


	11. Little Twerp Isn't So Bad

**This takes place Sunday evening. Leah POV.**

It was raining. The worst type—barely-there rain where it was just harder than a drizzle, and wasn't any fun to run in. Instead it just seeped into your clothes and made your whole body cold.

I flicked on the lights of George's MiniMart, squinting my eyes at the too-white fluorescent glare. The glass door slammed behind me, knocking off the packs of cigarettes haphazardly hung on the door. They clattered onto the floor.

Goddamn rain. Goddamn cigarettes. Goddamn job. I hated all of it.

Put the cigarettes back up, two fell off, put two back up, another falls off, take the whole rack of them off and shove it behind the counter. There. Much better.

I grabbed some kind of food-like substance wrapped in cellophane from the counter, my usual dinner as of late.

Where was the new kid? He got hired a couple days ago. I heard him arguing with the manager in the back room for a half hour, only to come back out with the most absurd hours. Four to six in the morning, eight to eleven at night. Six days a week. I had no earthly idea why. Working at a gas station was oppressive— I should know. It was my slot in life.

I sat down on the beat up swivel chair behind the counter, putting my legs up. Today had sucked.

All of the Cullens were freaking out about something to do with newborns. Killing people all over the place somewhere in Seattle. And what were we doing? We were sitting on our butts, waiting for them to come. Nobody would release any details, some kind of crap to do with the future-seeing leech, which was especially frustrating. We were waiting for an unknown enemy who would attack at an unknown time at an unknown place.

Not to mention that Jacob was obsessing about Bella, his porcelain little pet. Bitch. She thought the whole world revolved around her, with the bloodsucker with the big orange hair all wrapped around her finger. And Emily was sick, which meant that the only enjoyable part of the day, hunting as a wolf, was completely ruined by Sam worrying about how she was doing and insisting that we hurried up so he could get home to her as fast as he could.

The worst part was when I caught mom crying over the pile of dad's clothes that we were donating.

I closed my eyes, determined that I would try to sleep, and that-

I heard the door slam shut, the squeak of linoleum on wet shoes that made me wince. I jerked my head up, the chair groaning underneath me.

Oh. It was the new kid.

He put down the hood of his sweatshirt, wiping his hands on his pants. It was raining harder. He saw me looking at him and briefly smiled. He was about as tall as I was, black hair, pale skin, and skinny.

Little twerp.

"You're late again, bud."

"So sorry."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Places to go. People to see."

"What's your name?"

"Ian."

"Well, if you're late one more time, Ian, I can get boss to fire you."

"Well, that would be really stupid on your part, seeing as I'm making your job easier."

"_Well_, aren't you cocky."

"Why are you so mean?" He looked at me over the counter, right into my face, as if he honestly wanted an answer. I sneered at him.

"Seriously, bud. Where were you? Two days on the job and your rep isn't doing too good."

"Don't call me bud. And don't ask about my business."

I put my feet down from the counter and leaned forward, so I could squint at him. He was leaning against one of the off-yellow racks that held Honey Buns, arms crossed, looking at the ground.

"Right, like your _business_ is so important." His eyes flashed at me.

"I was seeing my dad."

Oh, I bet his parents were divorced. He thinks his past is just _soooo _tragic. Yeah, well, you know what, buddy? My dad's dead. And I'm a freaking werewolf.

"My dad's dead."

"That's great for you."

"No it's not. It sucks."

"I stand corrected. That sucks for you."

It was quiet as I contemplated and crinkled the wrapper of my dinner. Ian looked around the store, at the escalating storm outside.

"I'm gonna be late tomorrow, too. And probably the day after it."

"You know it I tried I could stop your paycheck, bud."

"I'm not doing this for the money."

I snorted.

"Oh, so hanging out in a gas station that hasn't had a customer for the past ten years is your idea of fun?"

"I'm doing it as an excuse to get out of the house."

"You on prohibition or something?"

"No. I don't want my sister to know I'm seeing him."

"Who?"

"My dad. Step-dad."

"Why not?"

"Cause he's a douche."

"Then why're you seeing him?"

"Because he's a screwed up. My mom and him were supposed to be separated a year ago when we moved here, but she's been talking to him. And now he's here. And he got angry the last time I didn't come, and when he's angry he… hurts people."

Silence. I tried to process that.

"Then why don't you lock him up?"

"Why would I do that?"

"So he doesn't hurt people, idiot."

"One of the people who I'm most worried about him hurting is himself. Locking him up wouldn't help that."

"And you care about this _why_? I thought he was a douche."

"He is. But he's my dad. I don't' know about you, but _normal _people usually have a tendency to get just a little bit attached to their parents."

I looked at him, scrawny, maybe-sixteen year old. I could decide whether he looked angry or sad. Probably sad. What was his name again?

Ian.

"What do you even do while you're with him?"

He shrugged. "Watch football."

I could see the conversation waning, and for some absurd reason, I desperately didn't want it to stop. It felt good to get wrapped up in somebody else's problems for a little while. It made mine feel so much less real.

"So why is your dad here? He just move in or something?"

"Yup. From Iowa. My mom took money out of my sister's college fund to pay for his plane ticket and apartment."

"Ooh," I whistled. "That blows hard."

"I know."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"I don't know. Why did your mom do that?"

"Cause she's a douche too. She doesn't know _anything_. She doesn't get it. She never listens."

"Geez, is your whole family this screwy?"

` "No. My sister's not."

"Who is she?"

"You don't know her."

"This is La Push. Everybody knows everything about everybody." Actually, on account of the whole werewolf/vampire thing, that was a stretch from the truth. I didn't tell Ian that.

"You still wouldn't know her. She doesn't talk much."

"Why not?"

"Cause my dad's a douche."

Another pause of silence, and that sunk in somewhere deep in my chest. I could only imagine what it meant.

"All right, bud. You ready to do some work?" I asked, changing the subject.

He was in the middle of running his shoe through a puddle of water in the floor, making some kind of pattern. He stopped and looked up at me, his hair flopping into his eyes.

"I have to do _work_?"

"That why you signed up, right?"

"No."

"Oh. Right. It's so you can visit your dad. Either way, yes, you have to do work. Inventory lists."

"You know, nobody ever actually comes in here."

"I know. Now, inventory lists."

"What do I do?"

"You go into the back room and get the inventory list."

"Um. Okay. The back room?"

I pointed to a rust covered door in the corner of the Mini Mart, next to the bathrooms that I would rather die than pee in.

Ian walked over and creaked open the door, peering into the darkness.

"Maybe you should get it. I don't know where anything is."

"Neither do I. I've never been in there before."

I got off of the chair and stood next to him, putting my hand on the door to creak it open more. It left smudges of rust on my hand.

"Ew." I wiped it on Ian's shirt. He made a face at me.

"It smells like coke."

"Coke?" I asked. There was definitely a funny smell coming from in there, but it didn't resemble the caffeinated sugar drink that I knew and loved.

"Cocaine."

"Oh. How do _you _know what cocaine smells like?"

He looked at me, his face very close. He had a scar right above his eyebrow. It made him look angry.

"Let me guess: cause your dad's a douche?"

"Yup."

Another pause of silence, made especially quiet by him being there. I could hear the obnoxious trickle of the gutters outside, symphonizing with the rain on the roof and the cars on the highway.

"Ladies first," he finally said, gesturing me into the ominous looking doorway.

"Oh, no, you go right on ahead," I replied, keeping up with his joking tone.

"No, I insist."

"Really, I don't mind-"

"Screw this. We'll go in together."

"Oh, that's a great idea. That way if one of us dies, the other one will go down with 'em."

"Shut up."

"Should we hold hands while we're at it?"

"Asshole."

I shoved past him and into the backroom, which was so dark that the blackness felt like something physical. Maybe mashed potatoes.

I started groping around on the walls for a lightswitch.

"Um. What am I supposed to do?"

"Stay there. Keep the door open. If I scream, run for your life."

"Can do."

"Do you have a flashlight?"

"Absolutely."

"Really?"

"No."

"Jerk," I muttered under my breath.

"Do you want me to help?"

"Absolutely not. Keep the door open."

"How angry would you be if I closed this door on you?"

"Ian, don't you _dare_-"

_Click_.

"You. Little. Twerp." I said to myself. I stood completely still for a second, orienting myself. All right. This wasn't a big deal. Just make your way to the door, you can worry about beating up the kid later.

I kept my hands along the wall, probably getting some kind of infectious disease through all of the gunk that was accumulating underneath my fingernails.

All right. There was the door handle. Covered in rust, but there it was.

I tugged it.

It didn't budge. I tugged it harder.

The door knob flew off, and I hit myself in the head with it, but the door clicked open. Score.

But Ian wasn't there.

The lights briefly flickered on and off, a result of the storm. I was officially creeped out. If that little jerk was playing some kind of sick joke on me… I bet he was. I bet he was the annoying, practical joke type. I bet-

"Boo!" A shape jumped out from behind the counter.

I regret to say that I screamed very loudly and jumped back on instinct, slamming into the damn swivel chair which quickly slipped out from underneath me. I reached out for the closest thing— a rack holding packs of Orbit gum, which toppled over onto me. I fell on my butt.

Ian was doubling over with laughter, even as he reached out a hand to me.

"So-sorry-didn't think- you freaked-" His eyes were watering, the scar on his eyebrow disappearing as his face scrunched up with laughter.

He was cute.

However, I was still on my butt, on the ground. And it was his fault.

"You _idiot_!" I screeched, slapping his hands away."_So _immature! Is that honestly what you think is funny? Really?" I started throwing packs of Orbit gum at him, and he sank down to his knees he was laughing so hard.

And it wasn't even that funny.

But here we were, two lonely teens trapped by the rain in a gas station.

I couldn't help it. I laughed with him.

Two minutes later, both of us on the ground near tears in fits of unexplainable laughter, clutching at the walls of the counter, at each other, at packs of Orbit gum.

I felt happier then I had ever felt in a long time.

"By the way, what's your name?" Ian asked, half an hour late, as he was helping me rearrange the counter. He was crouching on the ground, handing me packs of gum so I could put them away.

I leaned over him, reaching for a couple quarters that had fallen out of the cash register.

"Leah," I said.

"Leah," he repeated, and smiled at me. "Leah."

**I am amazed with the number of reviews I've gotten. If you are a reader choosing to review, then please be extremely honest- if you think it's getting boring, or you want me to write more of something, or have any suggestions at all, please tell me!**

**I know it doesn't fit with the books, but this whole story is taking place in Eclipse. Thank you!**


	12. Screw Boundaries

Between all of us—Ian, me, and my mother, there were four guys.

All I know about Guy #1 is that he's gone, and that he was the one who started cracking my mother. When he left, she became sad. Sad and desperate enough that she thought that the only thing that could make her happy was a baby, and that once she had that baby everything would be okay again.

Which, I guess is that start of my problems. Because you're supposed to have a baby because you want a _baby_, not an antidepressant.

Guy #2 was my real dad. Sperm donor. He probably used the money he got from his "donation" to pay off his student bills and is now happily married.  
Then there's Guy #3. Eventual step-dad, but that would come later. I don't know why he was working at the place. I'm guessing it was because the "bank" was kind of slummy—not the kind of place where married couples who had problems conceiving would go, but the place where desperate girls went who had nothing left but to hope that their child turned out better than they did.

Translation: ample hook-ups.

You can guess what happened between him and my mom. Somewhere along the way, my mother fell for him.

I was born, and she no longer had any reason to go back and visit him. So, what's a girl to do?

Move on with her baby, get a good job and create a new life for herself.

Apparently not.

I guess Ian has it worse, because mom had _me_ so that she would be happy. She had _Ian_ so that she would have an excuse to go back to the sperm bank so she could see the guy who she "loved" so that they could—

You know.

Ian's dad is Guy#4.

Somewhere along that process, my mom started breaking. Starting from Guy#1 leaving, all of these little cracks started spreading inside of her. To keep from shattering she put this numbing glue on all of them. It worked, and she hasn't shattered yet. But the glue also effectively keeps everything else out.

Sometimes I feel angry at her, but then I just end up feeling guilty. Because she's not doing anything _wrong_.

She washes laundry and buys groceries and does the dishes and goes bra shopping with me, but she's not… she's not… _there_.

You can usually tell what people are thinking when they talk. Even if they don't talk, you can look into their eyes and get a glimpse of what is going on in their brain. I, for the life of me, cannot figure out what is going on in my mom's head. Her eyes are blank.

Ninety-five percent of the time, I didn't care.

The other five percent, I want to hit her or scream at her or do drugs or something to see if she'll notice me.

I was currently sitting on the edge of our school parking lot amidst the crowd of students mulling around, not eager to start the first day of final exams any sooner than they had to.

I kept my face down, mean words that I didn't say turning sticky and sour tasting in my mouth.

I came to school crying today. It was something I hadn't done in a while.

I remembered what had happened this morning.

* * *

_I came down to breakfast smiling like an idiot. Usually Mondays were the devil-child of all weekdays, but today I was intensely grateful it had come. Monday meant school. School meant Seth._

_When I thought of him my chest filled up with these fuzzy, sunshiney little bubbles of happiness._

_Usually I didn't tell my mom anything about my social life, however sparse. But today it felt like my heart was going to explode if I didn't tell somebody about Seth, and God knows that I didn't have any girlfriends who I could call up and squeal to about how he made me feel, about how gorgeous he was…_

_So, I was going to take a leap. I was going to willingly engage my mother in conversation._

_"Hey mom," I said, going over to stand next to her where she was making scrambled eggs on the stove. She had made scrambled eggs every single school day in my memory. Ian and I took turns throwing them out when she went to work, because you have _no_ idea how sick of scrambled eggs somebody can get._

_She looked up and smiled. Not at me, but at the window in front of her. But I was pretty sure it was meant for me. _

_"So…" How do I start?_

_Pretend she's Ian. I can always talk to Ian. _

_"There's this boy."_

_She looked at me now, smiling and nodding. "Oh!" _

_It was followed by beats of silence._

_"So, Bailey, I was thinking about this ad I saw in the newspaper about a writing camp. Writing? Would you like that?"_

_"Um, sure, mom. But did you hear what I said?"_

_"Of course!" _

_Silence. I took a deep breath._

_"Um, so his name is Seth-"_

_"Whose?"_

_"The-the boy, mom. The one I was talking to you about."_

_"Oh. Seth? I don't like that name." I swallowed, the buzz I had been feeling as I came down in the morning kind of being killed. What was wrong with his name?_

_"Oh. Well… he- he's really nice. And maybe you could meet him, sometime."_

_"I have to work."_

_"I didn't mean right now, mom. Just… anytime you're free."_

_"I don't have free time to meet a boy."_

_"Oh, well, that was only if you wanted to. But I do think you would like him, because he's really nice… he's Quileute. He lives in the reservation."_

_She turned off the stove, putting the rubbery eggs onto a plate. Her face twisted._

_"Oh. That's not a good thing."_

_"What? Why not?"_

_"Those… those Quileutes… don't they get in trouble a bunch?"_

_I had no idea what in heck she was talking about, not to mention that what she was saying was kind of rude, because a) they were her ancestors, and b) to my knowledge, she hadn't even met any of them._

_"No, I'm not."_

_This conversation was taking a turn for the worse._

_"Wait," she said, her face turning confused. "Am I?"_

_"Uh… I don't know. But-" I tried to salvage the conversation."- I was thinking that maybe, I could, you know… invite him over some time." It came out sounding like a question. She had turned to wipe her hands on a dish towel, but when I said that her head jerked back around to me. Well, at least she was listening. _

_"No."_

_"Wait, what? I-"_

_"I don't want a boy in this house."_

_I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say._

_"Well… it's not like we'de be alone. Ian would be here." Her face turned confused again, like she had forgotten she had a son, then went back to being blank. She kept wiping her hands on the dish towel._

_"I don't want anybody in this house."_

_I tried to be patient._

_"It would just be to study-"_

_"No."_

_"He's really nice if you'll just-"_

_"I don't care."  
"Mom, ple-"_

_"No.  
"_Listen to me!_"_

_My voice had come out a lot sharper sounding then I had meant, and her eyebrows puckered up. She finally let go of the dishtowel and her hands came up to flutter at her face, like she was a little child and didn't know what she was supposed to do with them. She stared at something right past my shoulder._

_"I'm sorry," I whispered. _

_She looked worried for another second, then her face made a complete 180. It turned blank, happy again, like her conversation with me had never happened._

_"Well, you give that writing camp a chance, all right sweetie? I'de bet you like it. Well, I'm off to work."_

_And then she turned and walked out the door._

_"Mom, your bag," I said, holding it out to her. She always forgot to bring it with her on Mondays._

_"Oh, I don't need it."_

_"I'm pretty sure you do."_

_"Oh, really? Well, okay then." She took it from me, smiled, and walked out the door again._

_Ian walked into the kitchen a couple minutes later. I was sitting at our kitchen table, trying not to feel anything. _

_I noticed he was already dressed. Probably just back from his job at the George's Minimart._

_. He started to smile, but then he saw my face._

_"What happened?"_

_"Nothing."_

_"Mom?"_

_"Yeah."_

_He sighed. A couple moments later he abruptly picked up the dish towel which was laying on the floor, and whipped it against the table, making a sharp crack. His face was twisted. He let it fall from his hand. _

_"She never listens, does she?" I shook my head._

_"You gonna be okay at school?" I nodded._

_"You don't look like it." I turned my face up to give him the best smile I could muster. _

_He stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes at me, something we had done ever since we were really little. His way of saying that everything would be okay. _

_I laughed, just like I always did._

* * *

And I _had_ been okay, for about two minutes.

But these little… _disagreements _with my mom always left me shaky and angry and not sure what I was supposed to do. I felt angry and frustrated and restless all at the same time, but I didn't know why.

And so I had spent the whole bus ride here staring at a spot on the seat in front of me without blinking, trying really, really hard not to cry. That was something that I preferred to do in private.

But, apparently my tear ducts couldn't wait, so I clambered off of the bus and into onto a brick wall next to a trash can, and pulled my knees up to my chest and let my hair slip over my shoulders and cover my face. I let the knot in my throat relax, and pretty soon wetness followed.

And I would be okay. Sure, my eyes were a little red, but the tears were already drying up, and if I just didn't think about-

Seth.

Oh, _crap_. Seth.

He started walking towards me from where he had gotten out of a beat-up blue Chevy across the parking lot (how, again, does he have a driver's license?), and immediately after I saw him I felt this little release. Everything would be okay. Seth was here.

_No, Bailey_, I scolded myself. Do _not _get Seth involved in your home life. He doesn't care, and you'll just embarrass yourself.

For some reason, tears sprang to my eyes again. Shoot.

Okay, Bailey, you have about five seconds to either skedaddle or somehow make it look like you didn't just suffer through a mini-meltdown.

I couldn't bring myself to walk away from him, so I stayed there, watching him as he walked up.

I kept my head down, but my eyes up, meeting his lean figure striding towards me.

I had never really noticed how he walked. I don't know why—it was _sexy_. He kind of rolled along, opposite shoulder dipping down with each long stride. His body, of course, didn't hurt matters. He was lean and toned, shirt bulging out at his chest then going cleanly down, giving only a taste of what was under there. Despite the tears and the sadness and the screwy mother, there was a flutter in my stomach.

He approached me, filling up my vision with his loose jeans that just wouldn't fit the same way on anybody else.

"Hey Bailey," he said, his voice sounding too familiar for only having known him for a week.

"Hey, Seth," I said. My voice sounded wrong. Head down.

I could see his upper body leaning down, trying to look at my face. I picked up a book and put it on my lap, giving me an excuse to look straight down.

"Are you ready?"

"Am- am I ready?"

"For finals."

"Oh, right, um, I think so. English first, right?"

"Nope. Math. Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I knew that," I said, not answering his question. My eyes felt hot, and another tear dribbled down. It would be _so easy_ just to tell him everything.

"Well," I said, raising my textbook pointedly. "Just trying to- to, um, cram in some last minute studying, you know, just the formulas and stuff."

He leaned next to me on the wall, still taller even though he wasn't standing up at full height. He crossed his arms, and I could tell he was looking at me.

"Bailey…"

"Mmmh?" It sounded like somebody was choking me.

"If you don't want to talk to me, that's… that's okay. But you can just tell me that."

"What? Who said I didn't want to talk to you?"

"You're textbook is upside down, Bailey."

I actually focused on the book in my lap for the first time. Oh. Indeed it was. I could feel my face heat up to the temperature of my tears.

"…oh." I sniffled.

"Are you going to tell me what- wait, are you crying?"

"No."

"Oh my God, you're crying."

"_No_, I'm not." I stubbornly held on, but my voice came out warbled.

All of a sudden he was off the wall and standing right in front of me, hands reaching out then pulling back like he was afraid I was going to break.

"What happened? Are you okay? Tell me what happened."

I tried to breathe but the air came in too shaky, fighting a losing battle. It was going to be one of _those_ days. I was fairly sure that all that could help me now was to drown my sorrows in a pint of chocolate ice cream.

"Are you hurt? Talk to me, Bailey. _Please_."

The tears were falling at an alarming rate. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to put down the flood gates.

Seth made a sound in the back of his throat somewhere near a growl, and his huge hands came down on my cheeks, bringing my head up with his palms.

"Bailey _look at me_."

His face was panicked. Coffee eyes, shot through with pinpricks of agitation, his chest was rising and falling too rapidly—he looked like he was in physical pain. It only made me cry harder.

For a couple moments all he did was stare at me, his breathing calming down. He was staring at me so fiercely, it was like he was trying to stop the tears through his willpower alone.

"Are you hurt?" His voice was serious, all business.

I tried to shake my head, but he was holding on too tight.

"No," I whispered.

Eyebrows went down in relief.

"All right. Can you tell me what happened?"

His voice was gentle. It would be _so easy _to tell him everything.

"Is- is it something with your family?"

Something felt like it broke in my throat. I wanted to curl into myself.

"It is. Okay, we're getting somewhere. Your parents?"

I closed my eyes again.

I heard him sigh, and his hands left my face.

I think I might have whimpered a little bit at the loss of contact, but seconds later his feverish fingers were back, gently wiping away the tear stains with the hem of his shirt.

"That's all I'm going to get out of you, isn't it?"

I didn't move.

He moved to sit back down next to me. His fingers traced over my face, brushing over my cheekbone, brushing my hair out of my eyes.

"Why?" It was something I had been wondering for a while. Might as well ask him now.

He sounded appalled.

"_Why_? Because- I- I want to help you, Bailey. Tell me what's going on. I'll fix it." He put his hand on the back of my neck, bringing my head up again.

_I'll fix it_.

If two children and seventeen years couldn't fix my mother, neither could can you, Seth.

I shook my head. "No. That- that's not what I meant. Why… why do you care?"

"Because I l-" He stopped himself.

Because I like you? Because I love you?

Nobody in my life had ever told me that they loved me. My father doesn't. I don't know about my mom. Ian does, but he's not the type to say it.

"Because I _like_ you, Bailey. A lot. And…"

I think I was sobbing now.

"No, no Bailey, please…"

He tried to draw me into him, but I resisted, shaking my head into his arm.

"I want to help you. You know that, right? I'm not going to hurt you. I'm never going to hurt you. Did you hear that? Please talk to me." He was pleading. Fingers at my face again, trying to take away the tears. It doesn't work like that, Seth.

"Please stop." My voice was breathy.

"Stop what? Tell me what I'm doing wrong."

Hands brushing on my neck, on my cheek…

"_That_. Stop that."

"Bailey _please_. I don't know what-"

"Don't touch me. I can't- I can't think when you're…"

His hands were off me like I had burned him instead of the other way around. I didn't open my eyes. I could feel his hurt without needing to look into his eyes. I put my head back into my knees.

I could hear him slide off of the wall. I could feel him start to walk away, still facing me…

"Wait- no!"

He froze.

"Please don't…"

I finally opened my eyes to face him. His face broke my heart. I felt guilty. Why was I doing this to him?

"Go," I whispered, finishing my sentence. "Please don't go."

Don't touch me, but stay close.

Don't talk to me, but please don't go.

He approached me, hands up, like coming up on a frightened animal. It made me cry harder. When would this stop?

This was a public parking lot. I'm sure people were staring.

He came back to be next to me, just close enough that I could feel his heat through my shirt.

Me curled up, him right next to me, with nothing but his eyes touching me. I could feel them.

It didn't feel right. But I was scared.

You can go slow, Bailey. Going slow is okay. He'll wait for you.

After a minute I just kind of gave up. I turned towards him and rested my forehead on his shoulder.

There. That was good. That wasn't scary.

He dipped his shoulder down, moving closer. Making it as easy for me as he could without crossing the boundaries I had drawn.

I stayed like that for another minute, my tears staining his shirt. I think they were slowing down.

His fingers came over to my hand, laying limply on my lap. Asking permission.

Sure. Whatever. I don't care anymore.

He took my hand, swallowing it up in both of his.

"Seth?"

"Mmh?"

I could tell his was looking at my fingers. I could feel the rumble of his voice.

"Can you… just… fix it?"

"Of course I can." His voice was quiet, meant only for me. "What do you want me to fix?"

I sniffed.

"Everything."

And then I think I broke down some kind of wall, because he was bringing his arm around me, and I didn't pull away.

In fact, it felt very nice. Safe.

He put his chin on top of my head, gently tucking me into him.

"I'll do my best, butterfly."

I rested my face into his chest, letting the rhythm of his breathing soothe the tears. He sighed, his breath hovering on my cheek. I felt his lips near my temple, kissing me, kissing away all of the sadness.

It felt right.


	13. The Machine of Death

You would think that somebody as big as Seth would have just a little bit of trouble getting around. His limbs were so long that sometimes I would look at him and find it hard to believe that he had full control of them, that they weren't tripping, constantly knocking things over. Goodness knows that Ian had enough trouble, and he just barely skimmed six feet.

And yet he still managed to appear behind me as I kneeled next to my locker, making absolutely no sound, and scaring the heck out of me.

I jumped up, and would've hit my head on the locker above me had his hand not been there, already swinging it closed.

"It's me. Why do you always do that? You're so…skittery."

I didn't answer, focusing instead on stuffing the last of my books into my much-abused backpack. He leaned against the lockers, swinging his keys around on his fingers, and peering down at me.

"Whatcha doin?"

"I'm… I'm packing up my stuff." I stopped, craning my head to look at him. "That _is _what I'm supposed to be doing, right?"

He smiled at me, one corner of his mouth tugging up.

"It is if you're planning on taking those pre-calc books home for a little light summer reading. If not, I would suggest dumping them in the pile by the front office. School'll take care of them."

"Oh. Right. But…" Then something occurred to me. "Today was our last day of school, wasn't it?"

"Yup."

"So I don't have to wake up at six in the morning anymore?"

"Nope. No more homework, either. Or cafeteria food."

I looked back at my locker for a second, letting it set in. After a couple moments I found myself beaming up at him. He laughed, something that I was learning he did a lot, and picked up a pile of my twenty-something pound textbooks for me, swinging them easily into the crook of his arm.

"So, I was thinking," he said, as we made our way past the crowds of celebrating students to the office.

"Really?"

"I know. I was proud of myself. Anyways…" A group of seniors pushed past us, sporting six-packs of Red Bull from the stash they kept in the janitor's closet, laughing raucously. Seth hooked his hand around my waist, pulling me away from them and closer to his side. I felt the familiar little jolt—I still wasn't quite used to this. I met his eyes, searching my face, then quickly looked down. He smiled slightly and shook his head.

"Anyways…." He continued. "What was I talking about?"

"You were thinking."

"Right. So I was thinking, you should come home with me today."

"Home?" Somehow the thought of visiting the place where Seth actually lived was… well, scary.

"Not mine. Sam and Emily's… they're family friends. The whole p- I mean, all of my friends would be there. I can finally show you off to everybody."

I was about to claim there was something I was doing later today, but when he said that I had to press my lips together to stop the ridiculous smile that threatened to split my face.

"And besides, Emily said that she really wanted to meet you. It'll be fun."

"Fun," I repeated.

"Yup, lots of fun." He ducked his head so that he could look at me better, pouting out his lower lip in a ridiculously cute puppy-face. "Please? I promise I won't let them eat you or anything."

I bit my lip. "You saw the blathering idiot I was when you first met me, Seth."

His eyebrows drew down. "You were never-"

"Multiply that by about ten, and that's what it's gonna be like."

"Don't say that," he said, pulling me closer to him. "You'll be among _friends_, and you'll do perfectly fine."

"But-"

"Kim'll be there to. She's Jared's girlfriend, and she'll talk enough for the both of you."

"But I don't think…" He gave me the face again as he dropped off the books haphazardly in the growing pile outside if the school office. I couldn't resist.

"Sure. I'll go."

"Really?" His face lit up. "I thought I was going to have to throw you over my shoulder and make you go whether you liked it or not. But thank you, that makes things easier."

I shook my head, smiling into his shoulder. "Just as long as you don't expect me to make small talk."

He lead me out to the parking lot, to where I assumed his car was parked.

Things with Seth were… confusing. In a good way.

Monday morning, when I had fallen apart in the parking lot, it seemed like the netting that had been separating us had been torn down. Today, two days later, it was for the most part not there anymore—just little wisps of awkwardness and insecurity still floating between us.

Or at least that's what I thought. Seth didn't seem at all uncomfortable.

We weren't dating, but would a friend come over to your house at ten at night the day before your last exam so that you could copy his notes, your own ruined in the rain?

I didn't know. I really didn't. But it was okay—things were comfortable. Established. We could stay like this for a while, and I would be happy.

We rounded the corner around a red pick-up truck, and I expected to see his Chevy, patiently waiting.

I got a surprise in two forms: the first being that the familiar car wasn't there, in its place a very dangerous looking black motorcycle. With flames on the side and everything.

The second was that the motorcycle wasn't alone. There was a group of girls in mini-skirts and v-neck tanktops that would have gotten them sent home on any other day except for the last day of school, when the teachers really couldn't care less anymore. They all looked up simultaneously at Seth, then looked back down, giggling furiously.

I stopped at the edge of the parking space, suddenly feeling small and stupid in my boot-cut jeans.

Seth turned back. "What's wrong?"

I swallowed hard, deciding to tackle the problem of the motorcycle first.

"Um… where's you Chevy?"

"Oh, that piece of junk? Back at Sam's. I think Jacob's trying to replace the engine."

I decided to ignore the fact that I had no idea who Jacob was. "So… this," I gestured to the machine of death in front of me, "is the replacement?"

"Not really. It's Paul's, but I'm using it for today."

"Oh. Well, that's – that's, um, nice of him," I fiddled by the edge of the parking space, not wanting to get any closer to the girls or the gleaming black metal.

"Well, kind of. He doesn't exactly _know_ I'm using it, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him. And, I had a really good reason."

"Which would be…"

He gave me an impish smile. "To impress you, of course."

"To impress _me_?"

"No, not you. Our oh-so handsome school principle," he said sarcastically, walking over to take up both of my hands. "Of course _you_. Who else do you think I care about enough to brave the wrath of Paul for?"

I swallowed hard, looking down at our hands.

"Well… those girls over there seem very- um, impressed."

He looked confused for a second, turning his head to look over my shoulder to where I was looking. One of the girls waved, and they all giggled some more.

He turned back, rolling his eyes. He put his arm around me again, leading me to the motorcycle, leaning down to talk in my ear. His voice was low and serious.

"_Them_? Bailey… I don't even see them anymore. Only you."

I caught my breath. For a second it felt like all the blood in my body stood still.

"Plus," he added, his voice going back to its joking tone, "I've always preferred brunettes."  
I let my hair fall over my shoulders. He gave them a little wave, causing a flutter of eyelashes and manicured fingernails, but put his arm around me, pulling me tightly into him. I couldn't have pulled away even if I wanted to.

"Now. Rule number one for riding motorcycles: hold on tight." He took the helmet and gently slipped it onto my head, fastening the latch beneath my chin. "Rule number two: no jumping off."

"I think I've got those down."

"Great, we're all set."

"Wait- Seth…" I reached out for his hand, keeping him back. He automatically closed it around mine.

I normally had no problem with riding fast things—school field trip to the state fair (I know, I didn't know they had state fairs in Washington either), I had ridden all of the rollercoasters I could find. No problem. Spiral of Death? Vortex? Bring it on.

But… it just looked uncontrollable and_ big_. Granted, Seth was big too, but the motorcycle had the added advantage of great amounts of horsepower.

He looked back at me, to where I was looking fearfully at the bike.

"Are you scared, Bailey?"

I gulped.

"Do you think I'de let a motorcycle hurt you?"

"Well, not so much the motorcycle, but oncoming cars… or the pavement…"

He laughed a little, as if the very thought that anything could go wrong was out of the equation.

"Trust me."

Before I knew it had had scooped me up wedding style, and deposited me gently on the bike, so that I was sitting in the front, his arms reaching around me to grab onto the handles.

"Are- aren't I supposed to be in the back?"

"Technically, yes. Would you prefer it?"

I took a deep breath, calculating my arm strength and what would happen if he made a sharp turn… images of flying off and splatting against a windowshield were what greeted the mind. Somehow his arms, seemingly made of steel and wrapped around me, seemed like a much safer option.

"Not at all, actually."

I could feel the rumble of his laugh through the expanse of his chest and onto my back, pressed against him.

"Didn't think so. And… I like you better up here. Where I can see you." His breath trailed along my neck. "I can make sure you haven't gone and flown off or something."

"That's-that's reassuring," I choked out.

He slipped the visor of my helmet down, his fingers lingering on my neck as his hand went back down to the handles. "Bailey, trust me. I won't let anything hurt you."

And with that still lingering in my mind, he gunned the engine. I squeezed my eyes closed, and pressed myself into him as much as I could.

And then we were off, leaving the school and homework and giggling girls behind.

**I will be waking up early tomorrow and writing another chapter, to make up for posting late… not to spoil anything, but the Big Revelation is next, if you can guess what that is. There was a lot of Seth in this chapter, please tell me how you think I did. Am I writing his character right? I want him to be protective, but not suffocatingly so… **

**Thanks for reading! Expect another chapter very soon!**


	14. Shaking Shirtless Men

**Aaagh, this whole scenario with Bailey and the motorcycle and visiting Sam and Emily's house how was supposed to be one chapter but it's turning into way more... I'm getting to the whole wolf-revelation! Don't worry! Writing as fast as I can! **

**Also, keep in mind the whole wolf telepathy thing... and the fact that they know about the imprinting and the shifting, but Bailey doesn't... and they don't know that she doesn't...**

It took me a couple moments to realize that they ground wasn't moving underneath me anymore. A couple more to realize how to release my muscles, which I realized had been clenching the whole time. And finally, a full twenty seconds later, I peeled my eyes open.

Seth slid the helmet off, his fingers gently untangling the hair that had gotten tangled in the straps.

"We're here. Now was that so bad?"

"I-I don't think so."

I could feel his smile. "Well, that's a good start. Next time we'll work on opening our eyes."

"Next time?"

"Of course. Maybe we'll do a little backroading. Show you around the res."

I could tell he was playing with me by his smile, and so the thought wasn't as terrifying as it could have been.

"Don't make me sic Paul on you-he doesn't seem very nice."

"You wouldn't," he said, gasping in mock horror. I smiled.

And, thinking back on it, the motorcycle ride hadn't been that bad. I would go through a minute of panic, feeling the wind tug at my eyelashes and the noises of the cars whizzing past, but then I would remember think, Wait, why am I even worried about that? Here I was, basically wrapped up by Seth, the wind on my face and the fire on my back... he wouldn't let anything hurt me.

I could see myself getting very used to motorcycle rides.

Seth wrapped one of his arms around my waist and swung his leg over the bike, taking me with him. Normally I would have protested-_I may be a complete dummy when it comes to riding one of these things, but I can get off of it by myself thank-you-very-much_- but my muscles had been clenching so hard that it seemed like they were rendered temporarily useless.

Not that I had to worry. He seemed perfectly fine with supporting most of my weight as I stumbled beside him along a winding gravel driveway.

At the end of it were a couple mud-splattered cars, some with better parking jobs then others. I recognized a Volkswagen Rabbit that I had seen parked around town a couple times, only memorable because of its grating muffler that had probably scared every bird out of the town.

Behind the cars was a house. Painted a faded yellow, it had a couple scattered rocking chairs and a porch swing on the patio, underneath a sagging shingled roof. The shutters were painted varying shades of red, flower print curtains peeking out from behind the windows. A gnarled tree stood in front of it, with its roots twisting among the leaves and vines of a unruly vegetable garden.

I absolutely loved it. Much better then the house I lived in, painted an oppressive off-white and with a design as original as a garden gnome.

"Sam and Emily are going to get married sometime in January," Seth said, pushing aside the vines of a tomato plant so we could get onto the stone path leading to the stairs.

"He's trying to get a new house built, but for now this is it."

"Why? What's wrong with this one? It's so cute."

"Cute? The house?"

"Yeah," I said, smiling at the fluttering wind chimes. "It has personality."

He laughed. "Personality? More like attitude. Especially when it rains- Sam's made us climb up there so many times to fix this piece of the roof that keeps getting ripped off by the wind. And it doesn't have any heating, and it can get really cramped when everybody comes over..."

That brought me back to why I was even here. To meet people. To make friends. God help me.

"Is... everybody here? Right now?"

"Should be. We're having a... gathering. "

"Catch up on the latest reservation gossip?"

"Something like that." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes,and his didn't meet mine.

I followed him up creaky wooden steps and to a door mat. I read the words: _Beware of Dogs_, it said in big print. Seth saw me reading it, and I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Gag Christmas gift. Emily hates it."

"Do they have a dog?" Seth looked away. From the inside of the house I could hear the clamor of a bunch of male voices strewn together, followed by a crash.

"Um. Kind of."

I was about to question him on how you can "kind of" have a dog, but he started opening the door, then froze and looked back at me.

"Hey, Bailey? Don't let them push you around or anything, 'kay?"

I gulped. "...push me around?"

I could see his hand tighten on the doorknob. "Yeah. It'll be hard for them to remember that you're such a... such a little doll."

I stared at him, trying to put on my toughest face. Thanks a bushel, Seth. I like being compared to a three year old's play toy.

"Doll?"

"Yeah. You're so small. If you have to, stick around Jared. He has Kim, so it'll be easier for him to... understand."

I was about to question him on what just came out of his mouth. Understand what? What are you talking about? And are they really going to hurt me? But his arm came around my shoulders, nudging me in front of him as he opened the door.

The inside of the house was just as cozy as the outside. Couches, seat cushions, wallpaper- almost everything was in some kind of faded flower print. Furniture was mixed, strewn in a semi-circle around a TV and fireplace, a mix of vintage and flea market. The room that we entered seemed to be the biggest, the living room, with a staircase and a hallway leading off of it. Picture frames of smiling people and watercolor sailboats were hung on every available wall space.

It house smelled like sunshine and muffins and the vague spicy-cherry smell of cough drops.

It was every girl's dream. And, no, not because of the friendly decorating or "homey" feel. No, it was because of its...residents.

Two words: Shirtless. Guys.

_ Everywhere._

Good Lord, it was like Adonis and some female body builder met and had babies out the _wazoo_ in there. Deeply tanned, rolling, swelling, chiseled muscles for what seemed as far as the eye could see. Shirtless guys laying on the floor, shirtless men sprawled on the couch, shirtless dudes walking through the hallway with muffins in their hands...

Strip club? Long-lost members of the Chippendale Dancing Club convention? Both were definite possibilities.

I'm pretty sure my eyes were as big as their bulging biceps.

Needless to say, being the oh-so social caterpillar that I am, it was bad enough when everybody looked up simultaneously when we walked into the room. What made it worse was that I think I might have been salivating a little, which I'm sure just added to my overall aura of awkwardness.

"Dude! You made it!" One of them abandoned the game of cards he was playing and strode over.

Seth eyed me, as if judging the likelihood that I would die or something if he stepped away for a couple of seconds. I nodded for him to go ahead.

They gave each other the classic Manhug, grasping hands before bumping shoulders so hard that I winced just watching.

"'Course I did. Told you I'd be here, didn't I?"

All of the guys got up, converging around Seth. There was a lot of exchange of the words "dude," and "bro," various fist bumps, shoulder punches, and other forms of masculine affection. I pressed myself into the doorway, trying to keep well out of their way.

"Hey, where's your girl?"

"Yeah. Bailey, right? Did you get her to come?"

At the mention of my name Seth turned to face me, swinging his head around. He grinned broadly, like he was happy that I hadn't run out the door while he wasn't watching.

"Of course I got her to come. My powers of persuasion are flawless."

He took my wrist in one hand, putting his arm around me shoulders with the other, keeping me from hiding behind him and disappearing like I would have liked.

"Everybody," he said, looking down at me. "Meet Bailey. Bailey, meet... well, everybody. They can tell you they're names."

Silence for a beat while I stared up at them. That would be your que to say something, Bailey.

"Um. Hi."

The boy who had first greeted Seth came up and grabbed my hand, pumping it up and down while my arm desperately tried to keep up.

"Hey, I'm Quil. It's nice to finally see you. Seth hasn't shut up about you since he saw you by your bicycle."

"Like you're not any worse, Quil. It's always great to have an inner monologue about a three year old."

Wait,what?

"So, it's Bailey, right?" Somebody else caught my attention, standing with his arms crossed to my right.

"Uh, yup. Me. I mean, yeah, that's me."

He chuckled. "Trouble talking, right? We've heard about it from Seth." I blushed. Seth told them about that?

Seth tightened his grip on me. "Shut up, Embry."

He shrugged. "Just sayin'."

"Bailey! How's it goin'? You're prettier then Seth showed us." Brady, flanked by Colin. I went even redder. Wha- oh, the picture of me he made a copy of... had Seth shown them that?

"It's her first time meeting the pack, right? Such an honor, I know."Another guy rolled his eyes.

"Please excuse Colin. He thinks he's funny. I'm Jared."

"Jacob," Another one grunted, nodding to me.

I was trying, unsuccessfully, to stack all of the names and faces into my brain for later use. I wondered if-

"So, you're the one, huh?" Suddenly there were two plate-sized hands grabbed roughly onto my shoulders, tearing me away from Seth. He slid his hand down my arm and grabbed one of my wrists, lifting it up. I cringed and tried to tug away as his eyes went up and down my body, like he was examining me.

"She's kinda... tiny, isn't she? You're not gonna get much fight outta this one, Seth. What made-"

Seth made a noise that I could only describe as a snarl, his lip curling up and everything.

"G_et your dirty hands off of-_"

"Don't tell me what to do, punk."

Seth shoved the guy's hands off of me, moving in between us, his arms reached back protectively.

"Oh, yeah? You touch her one more time-"

"I'm not scared of you, pipsqueak."

"Whoa, Paul, Seth! Let's take it down a notch, guys."

"_You_ take it down a notch, Jared."

"Bad insult."

"Everybody just calm down-"

"I'm not gonna fu-"

"Paul!"

"Shut up!"

"_Boys!_" All of a sudden, there was another man standing in the doorway. Shirtless... am I being redundant? And what looked to be the tallest. He had an aura of authority to him, which was demonstrated when everybody quieted down and backed away. He made eye contact with Paul, who looked like he was literally shaking, and after a couple seconds he put his head down and stalked out through the hallway.

Seth's hands reached out for me, frozen behind him, not really sure what the heck was happening. He snatched me up, hand pressing on the small of my back so that I was crushed to him. He looked murderously at the hallway through which Paul had exited.

What had just happened? I felt bad for some reason. I didn't to cause any fights. I also didn't want to be the helpless, vulnerable little girl, but it looked like that persona had already been made.

The man closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, before composing his face again.

"I'm sorry about that. Paul has some problems with his temper."

I nodded. "That's... that's all right. I mean, it's fine. With me."

He smiled, reaching out his hand for what I could tell would be another forceful handshake. I squirmed against Seth, eyeing him pointedly. His eyebrows drew down, but he released one of my arms, which I used to shake hands.

"It's something you'll probably have to get used to. You're Bailey, right?"

I nodded, trying my best to look engaged in the conversation while at the same time being mesmerized by how solid Seth felt against me.

"It's nice to meet you. Welcome to the family."


	15. If You Love Me, Tell Me What's Going On

**I know my timeline is atrociously wrong... but let's just pretend that it fits with the books, okay? Enjoy!**

"You are aware of the health benefits of eating, right?"

"I am," I said, gesturing to my half-eaten veggie burger that I was slowly but surely making my way through.

"That hardly counts."

"Our standards are slightly different."

It was true. He had probably eaten more tonight then I could in a week.

"Guess I can't blame you," he said, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back against a driftwood log. "Those things taste like crap."

Another truth. But I firmly believed that nothing could taste as bad as it felt to know that you were eating what had once been a living being.

Me being a vegetarian had gone over better then I had expected. Turned out that Sam's fiancé, Emily, was one, too. In order to please her Sam had forgone eating meat as well, something that Emily gently prodded Seth to do.

And he had, inhaling four veggie burgers in the time it took me to eat a watermelon slice, wincing as he swallowed when he thought I wasn't looking. But when Billy Black had brought out the ribs he looked at them with such a pathetic longing face that I finally just nodded at him to go ahead. The "pack," as they called themselves, had probably eaten the equivalent of five whole pigs, anyways.

Besides. It's one thing for a boy to like you, another entirely different thing for him to forgo his instinctual carnivorous ways. At least he had tried.

After things following Paul's little dispute had been sorted out a head count was taken, and everybody had been shepherded down to the rocky shores of First Beach. It had taken a good ten minutes for everybody to finally converge (organization didn't exactly seem high on anybody's list of priorities), and when they had a bonfire was started and food passed out.

I felt happy.

It felt like home, here on the beach.

People were sprawled all over the sand, on picnic blankets, on logs, or on each other. Elbows overlapped, shoulders bumped, heads rested on each other. One big family.

I especially loved watching Emily and Sam. She sat nestled between his legs, resting against him. No matter what Sam was doing, he always seemed to be aware of her, moving himself around her. His shoulders curved towards her, distinctly saying "mine." Like she was the center of his world.

A couple of times he would lean down to trail kissed down her face, down her jawbone and the ugly scars there. She would giggle as he nuzzled her neck and he would put her hand on her face, like he was trying to capture her smile and keep it there forever. It seemed that (no matter how corny it sounded) you couldn't doubt there love, jut like you couldn't doubt the waves on the shore or the sun in the sky. You would have to be blind not to see it.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't jealous.

What I wouldn't give to have that kind of love with somebody... Well, not somebody. A certain person. A certain person who was sitting next to me, making it hard to determine where the bonfire was if I closed my eyes, because of the unnatural warmth that emanated off of him. A certain person who was, at the moment, staring at me as I ate my watermelon, trying not to get the juice on my shirt.

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" His voice was with me, but his eyes were far away. They looked so... full. Kind of clouded over and shiny, like he was seeing something more then my wonderfully average self.

If he had a girlfriend I didn't know about I was going to kill something.

"That. Looking at me."

"Do you have an aversion to being admired?"

I opened my mouth, but words got stuck. My face went hot. _Admired..._ No, Bailey. Shut up.

"Well," I finally choked. "You don't have to... to be so blatant about it."

"Of course I do. You're so beautiful. Looking at anything else would be a waste of my time."

My mouth went dry.

Did you here that, Bailey?

He called you beautiful.

He called you beautiful.

He called you beautiful.

He called you beautiful.

I was filled with that kind of happiness that is reserved for Christmas Eve and the morning of the first day of summer break. I covered my mouth with my hand to hide my smile, at the same time thrashing around in my brain for something to say. He had said it so nonchalantly, like it was no big deal. he probably had no idea that I was dying of happiness inside.

So, of course, me being me, I ruined the moment by doing the most idiotic thing imaginable.

"Um. Th- thank you."

Thank you?

No, Bailey! Bad Bailey! Say something sexy! Say something funny! Don't freaking thank him.

That's almost as bad as thanking a guy when they say they love you.

Come to think of it, if somebody told me they loved me (assuming I don't freak and go into cardiac arrest) that is probably what I would do.

No wonder I'de never had a boyfriend. It was obvious that I was mentally retarded when it came to everything romantic.

But instead of looking like he was turned off, or even worse saying something like, "What? Oh, you thought I was talking about you? Psh, naw, I was complimenting that flower right behind you," Seth did something that I couldn't exactly interpret. He burst out laughing.

Like, really laughing, head thrown back and everything. He quieted down almost as suddenly as he had started, shaking his head and smiling at me.

And then you know what he did?

He stood up, probably to go find more food.

But that wasn't what was so amazing. It was what he did next.

Which was to shake his head slightly and smile at the horizon and say, "I love you."

.

.

I love you.

.

.

He said it like an afterthought. Like something you would say affectionately to a good friend, something that he didn't even think about.

But nobody, not in my _seventeen freaking years of existence_ had ever told me that they loved me.

Oh God, I was SO happy. I was so happy I could have laid down and started bawling my face off, whilst simultaneously dancing around like a ballerina, I was that happy.

But knowing that that was somebody that nobody really wanted to see, I kept all of that happy in me, letting it swim around push at my seams. I looked up at his retreating figure, then met the eyes of Kim, Jared's girlfriend, sitting nearby. I hadn't been introduced to her yet, but I couldn't help but beam at her. She gave me and answering smile that was just as big, even though she didn't know me. I'm pretty sure that she was just that kind of person. I liked her. At the moment, I like everybody.

I turned to smile down at my watermelon. I wanted to hold onto this feeling.

But did I really have to?

Because I honestly didn't see how I could be sad ever again.

Seth loved me.

* * *

A half hour later, I was leaning against Seth drowning in his smell as we talked. He smelled very good. Like dirt. If it was that really good kind of dirt from Lowes (minus the fertilizer pellets) and then you grew a pine tree or something in it so that it smelled all woodsy, and then took the dirt and put it out in the sun for five hours so that it was all warm and crumbly.

That was how Seth smelled. And I could have gotten drunk of of it.

He had said that he wanted to know more about me. He had asked me my favorite color, what my school had been like in Iowa, and if I believed in God.

Purple. Boring. I think so.

Those were the answers, except I found myself elaborating more then I thought I was capable of. I heard myself telling him that I hate everything neon and what subjects I liked and how there was this teacher who I had loved until I found out that he smoked, and somehow that ruined him for me. I found myself telling him that I really wanted to believe in Him, but didn't know how.

Our current topic was on my taste in TV. Or rather, what it had been when I was five years old.

"Sesame Street? How could you _not_ like Sesame Street?"

"'Cause Elmo is annoying as _hell."_

_"_Seth! Hating on Elmo is- is- its unconstitutional! And he's not annoying. He's cute."

"Are you kidding me?" He rose his voice a couple of octaves. "Hi! My name is Elmo! Come pet my goldfish!"

I covered my face with my hands, trying and failing not to laugh at his imitation of our furry red friend.

"Besides, Cookie Monster scared me so much that I nearly pissed myself."

I gasped in a breath, laughing harder just imagining it. "_Cookie Monster?_"

"Yes! Did you see the way he massacred those cookies? I thought he was going to find me in the middle of the night and come out from under my bed and be like "_me want cookie!"_ and start ripping off my head or something. It was enough to emotionally scar any four year old."

I was doubled over, my eyes watering.

"Don't laugh at me," he said, though he had been laughing himself. "You can ask my mom. I was a fragile child."

The sound of Billy Black clearing his throat was what finally made me stop my fit of hysterics. It was weird. I had almost completely forgotten the presence of other people around us.

He was an old man in a wheelchair. Thinning blakc hair slung into a low ponytail, deeply tanned skin with wrinkles in his wrinkles. But, somehow he managed to demandthe respect of everybody around him. Without even saying anything people quieted down and turned towards him. Maye it was his eyes- they were solid black, and seemed to hold more then he let on.

"I'm sure you all know why you're here tonight." His voice was low and gravelly. It ilicited a flutter of response among everybody- some eye rolls, some nervous glances exchanged.

Um. _No_, I wanted to say. _I don't know. Could you be so kind as to tune me in?_

"There has been... an advancement made in the situation in Seattle." A swell of murmers rose from everybody around me.

"Advancements my ass," I heard Embry lean down and say to Seth. "They're just trying to keep us interested, so we don't abandon them and leave 'em to fight for themselves. Which, if you ask me, is what we should be doing."

Judging by Seth's face, he didn't seem to agree with this, but his answer was interrupted by Jacob's voice, rising above everybody else's.

"What is it, dad?"

"Now," said Billy, ignoring Jacob, "Keep in mind that we are not entirely sure of the facts that we have. We must be prepared, but can not be too hasty to jump into battle-"

"Cut the crap. What's going on?"

"Was it that pixie vamp? I don't trust her."

"How do we know they're telling us the truth?"

Billy raised his hands, trying to shush everybody. "We have a pact made with the Cullens, so therefore-"

"Can you just tell us what's going on?"

"Patience, son, we-"

"_They're coming._"

Sam stood up, his voice rising above everybody else's. I wasn't sure if it was because they all seemed to look up to him, or if it was the fact the he seemed to be almost seven feet tall, but everybody shut up really quick. "They're coming," he repeated. "Alice saw them, the whole coven. Newborn and dangerous. There will be a fight."

Now, there was of course an uproar following this, with reactions ranging from bared teeth and excited, _Hell yeah!_s to whimpers of fear.

But I, for one, would like to back up a step.

As far as I could figure, there was some kind army of babies that was in Seattle, and Seth and his group were teamed up with a clan of fairies named Cullen that they weren't sure if they trusted in order to rid the world of these diseased killing babies.

In other words: I had NO IDEA what in the h-e-double _freaking_ hockey sticks was going on right now.

I turned to Seth. He had one of his forearms draped over my shoulder, absent-mindedly twirling my hair around one of his fingers.

"Um, Seth?" He turned to smile at me from where he had been talking to Embry about how Jasper said you weren't supposed to let the newborns get they're arms around you, or they could crush you.

I had to take a seconds to orient myself after this comment, seeing as a) who is Jasper, and how stoned were his parents to give him a name as crappy as that, and b) I had never really considered hugging a baby to be a life threatening experience. I almost started laughing, it was all so insane. _What is going on_?

"Yeah?"

I was trying to come up with words to properly convey my extreme confusion when the blank look on my face registered with Seth.

"What's wrong? D-"

And then I think it dawned on him. Whatever it was. He cussed under his breath, his eyes growing very, very wide.

Embry glanced over at us. "What?"

"Uh..." Seth looked at Embry then eyed me pointedly, trying to tell him something.

"What is it, dude? You look like you're-" And then the light switch flicked for him, too. His eyebrows went up and he turned to look at Seth like he had just suggested he put his head in a garbage disposal.

"Oh, hell. Oh _hell, _Seth! You haven't told her yet?"

"Sam told me to wait," he hissed at him.

"Yeah, dude, not his long."

"I've only known her for like, two weeks!"

"Well what're you waiting for?"

"_Here_? No way."

I wanted to interrupt, to tell them that I was very much present and listening to their conversation, which they had seemed to have momentarily forgotten, but my moth seemed full of glue as they both turned to stare at me. I could just imagine what was going through their minds: _what're we supposed to do with her?_

"Dirty plates, boys?" Emily appeared in front of us, a stack of dirty dishes in her arms. Her expectant face changed to one of confusion when she saw all of our expressions. "What's wrong? Me and Kim are just bringing them inside to wash them..."

Embry saw his opportunity.

"Gee, what a coincidence! Bailey here was just telling us how much she thoroughly enjoys washing dishes, so maybe she could, you know, _go inside _ and help you.

"Wait, Emb-" Seth started interrupting, but Emily got the message.

"Oh! You haven't told... all righty then, dear. I could sure use the help. Do you want to follow us back to the house? I promise we'll be back soon."

I stared at her blankly, then turned to Seth.

What I wanted to say: _For the love of God, do not make me go into that house, because I'm getting enough of this secretive crap from my brother, and now you, and I could never have a baby-killer as a boyfriend, and I have deep-set abandonment issues that I deny so if you don't want me to start crying please don't make me go into that house._

What came out: "Sure. Dishes. Fun."

"Bailey..." he kept glancing back and forth between me and Sam, but he wasn't looking our way. He was clenching and unclenching his fists, face twisted like he was in pain. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm so, so sorry. I can't... I'll tell you everything, okay? Later. You have to understand. Please understand."

"Sure," I mumbled, turning away.

"Wai-"

"Seth," I heard Embry say behind me. "If you're not gonna tell her now, then you have to let her go."

"But why can't I-"

"Because we need you here. They like you best."

Who? The Cullen fairies?

"So, you got Seth, huh?" I heard Kim's cheerful voice come up from behind me as we climbed up the sandy hill to get back to Sam and Emily's house.

"You're lucky," she said, without waiting for a response. "He's so nice. _Much _better then if it had happened with Paul. I mean, he'de still love you all the same, but-"

"_Kim_," Emily hissed at her, shaking her head slightly.

So that was just great. Even _they_ knew. Everybody but me.

"Oh. Right. Uh... what school do you go to?"

I gave one-worded answers to all of Kim's eager questions. I felt kind of bad, I mean, she was really nice, but my mind was elsewhere. I was fed up.

"Where's your bathroom?"

"Right down the hall and to your left, sweetie."

Perfect. Close to the front door, and I could slip out without them seeing me.

I was taking matters into my own hands.


	16. Life As I New It Picked Up And Died

**I am so sorry. I was gone for the past week on vacation, and I wrote an AN at the end of Chapter 16 explaining that I would be gone for a while and wouldn't be updating, but then I did something stupid and deleted it or something... Sorry to leave you guys hanging like that.**

**Oh well. Here it is, that chapter everybody (well, at least me) has been waiting for... Enjoy!**

I couldn't help but feel a little rush of adrenaline as I crept out of Sam and Emily's front door, wincing at the whine of its rusty hinges.

I felt really cool.

Like one of those sexy female spies in movies that can use a gun and run in high heels, usually away from impending explosions.

I was finally going to take a stand, put my life back into my own hands, and find out what was going on. Seth wouldn't tell me? Kim? Sam? That's fine. I don't need their help. I'll find it out myself. I was Bailey Conrad- I mean, Clera, a Girl On A Mission. You'de better watch it, Nancy Drew.

I wasn't even deterred when I tripped on a rock and went sprawling in Emily's overgrown garden, getting those spiky things that are on tomato vines all stuck in my palms.

I was fearless. Hear that, Bailey? Fearless!

That attitude lasted roughly three minutes. About the time it took me to make my way around to the back of the house and look down at First Beach and see that Seth wasn't even there anymore. Others were; I recognized Paul, Leah... in fact, everybody but him, Sam, and Jared.

Oh well.

I tried.

Time to go back to the hou-

_No_, Bailey. You are going to do this. Fearless, remember?

(insert half-hearted whimper)

Okay, but if he wasn't on the beach...

I looked around me. The backyard stretched out about fifty feet before the dirt and grass mixed with sand, then steeply dropped down to the coastline. Besides from the monotonous gray of the beach and waves spanning around me, the only other thing I could see was...

Woods. Forest. Surrounding the house, all but blocking the road from view.

But they couldn't have gone into the woods, right? I mean, who voluntarily went traipsing through a dark, damp nursery for hairy and possible dangerous creatures? Ian said there were bears. And wolves. And bugs.

Ew.

But then again, I could see a well worn path leading into the forest only twenty feet from where I was standing, and if they weren't on the beach or in the house...

Somebody on the beach was bound to look up sometime and see me. I wondered if they would believe me if I said I got lost on my way to the bathroom.

Yes, my directional skills weren't exactly prime, but to end up in the opposite direction, not to mention outside?

Probably not.

I might as well. What did I have to lose?

Don't answer that, Bailey.

Courage renewed with my newly formed plan (Operation: Find Seth and Don't Die, helpfully named by yours truly), I tramped into the forest with refreshed enthusiasm.

I was never really a nature-y person, and God knows I didn't spend my time taking pleasure walks in the forest, but it was actually kind of nice.

Everything seemed muted. My footsteps were silent on top of the carpet of pine needles, and the sound of waves crashing onto the beach and birds crying to each other seemed a world away. Dew-ridden ferns grew onto the path, soaking the bottom of my jeans.

Washington isn't exactly a sunny place to start out with, and the farther I went into the woods, the more the canopy of evergreens blotted out what little sunlight there was. Pine needles scraped my face.

Okay. Um. I take it back. Maybe this wasn't the brightest idea I had ever had...

Something howled.

Crap. _Crap!_ Okay, you know what? Never mind. Screw being fearless. I was getting out of here right now, this was a horrible, stupid idea, I'm so stupid, I'm turning back now, please God don't let me die, I'm retracing my steps-

"...would think they have a better plan..."

I froze.

The voice was muffled, rising only for a couple of seconds over the mist that clouded everything. But it was distinctly masculine, and close by.

I took a couple steps forwards. Waited.

"...get injured? Do you think it would be ideal to..."

It sounded like Sam.

I debated with myself about whether I should be stupid and keep following his voice, or turn back now.

"...thank Jasper for giving us the opportunity..."

There was that Jasper guy again! Don't chicken out now, Bailey. Keep walking. Find out what's going on.

Twenty more steps down the path and the voice kept getting louder, but so did a distant, steady roar. I had assumed that it was the waves on the beach, but now it sounded more like a river. A waterfall.

Ten more tentative steps. Yup. Definitely a waterfall.

"...think that we should try to assume..."

I went down on my hands and knees to crawl underneath a cobweb, spanning the width of the trail. I was half expecting Sam or Seth or somebody to appear from behind a tree and ask me what the heck I was doing.

I really hoped that didn't happen. Even though I was expecting it, I would probably still scream.

I kept walking down the path, stopping every couple of seconds to make sure that I could still hear whoever was talking. I went faster as the trees started to thin out and I gained confidence, almost running by the time I burst out of the wall of branches.

And almost died.

No, seriously.

I muffled a scream and practically had to slide down onto my butt to keep from plunging down into the ravine that sat before me.

The ground broke off into a wall of sheer vertical rock. Roaring, angry-looking cobalt gray water churned at the bottom, like smoke that somebody had just rudely swiped their hands through. Rocks, slick with algae, stuck out at jagged intervals like teeth in great need of a dentist. I could feel the misty spray, even from where I sat.

I had barely caught my breath before I gasped and had to scramble, on hands and knees, back into the forest.

There, not twenty feet from me, were the boys. Including Seth.

My heart skipped.

Calm down, I told it. Not now.

Sam stood on the very edge of the ravine, his arms crossed. Behind him were Seth and Jared, leaning in to talk to each other. They were all looking somewhere on the other side of the chasm.

I had to move a couple pine branches out of the way to peer across the ravine, and I was kind of surprised at what I saw. There was a man, standing directly across from them.

I couldn't make out his features, but I could see that he was extremely pale, with a shock of medium-length blonde hair that stood out from the forest. He was wearing a suit.

Now, I am the first to admit that I do not have the best conversational skills. In all honesty, they suck.

But I did know that when you were talking to somebody, you were supposed to be within ten feet of them...right? I mean, wasn't that normal? And not, like, trying to yell across a giant ravine...

I stood back up and tried to get closer. Hopefully the roar of the water would cover up the noise of twigs snapping underneath me. I shoved my hair off of my face. Too late to regret not bringing a hair tie.

I crouched behind a rock, only ten feet away from them. I stayed as still as I could, pressed against the rock, for ten seconds while I made sure that they didn't know I was there.

Though I couldn't hear what they blonde haired man was saying, I could make out every word of Sam's.

"I am trusting that you will tell us if Alice sees anything else?"

A pause while the man said something. I peeked out from behind the rock. Sam spoke again.

"Of course. We'll be there tomorrow. I'm sure Paul will be happy to finally have his chance to fight someone other then his fellow pack-mates."

Another pause. Sam laughed.

"Well, tell Emmet he'll have some competition."

What did he just say? _Fighting_ each other?

Even as atrocious as this sounded, the thought of Seth fighting made me feel kind of sick to my stomach. I glanced over at him. He was drawing something in the dirt with a stick, his other arm resting against a tree branch. All of a sudden his head jerked up in my direction, like he had felt me looking at him. I slipped back behind my rock. I don't think he saw me.

Why did that make me unhappy?

"Thank you, Carlisle. Emily is doing fine. We'll be seeing you and your family soon, then?"

The blonde man said one last thing, then turned to walk down the edge of the ravine, threading his way gracefully through the plants and rocks.

Sam turned back towards Jared and Seth.

"Why did we have to come with you, again?" Jared asked.

"They told me to meet them here. I didn't know it would just be Carlisle. I don't trust the rest of them. You're free to get back to Kim, Jared. Seth, you have patrol."

"Aw, come on Sam. Can't you have Embry do it? I need to get back to Bailey."

"Bailey can wait."

"No she can't! I feel horrible, 'cause I had to tell her-"

"Seth."

I couldn't see him from where I was hiding behind the rock, but I could only imagine his disappointed face. He muttered something that I could only assume was some kind of agreement.

Sam started to walk away.

"Make sure she's okay," I heard Seth say to Jared. I think Jared rolled his eyes or something, because then Seth said, "Hey, if it was Kim-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I will. But I don't really know what I'll say to her. Hurry back, kay?"

And I was all, oh, Seth is worried about me. Isn't that just the sweetest thing.

And then Sam and Jared walked away, and my brain slowly registered relief that they hadn't gone in my direction. I peeked out from my rock again.

Seth was standing alone, arms crossed, looking out at the forest on the other side of the gap. I saw his chest rise and fall as he sighed, and then turned around.

He reached down and I thought he was checking in his pockets for something, but then I realized that he was peeling off his shirt.

And, oh my Lord, if I hadn't been in love with him before, I definitely was now.

I could go into a whole explanation of the beauty I saw standing before me, but I'll just let you go ahead and search "Calvin Klein underwear model" into Google.

Enough said.

I didn't have any time to start drooling onto the rock or anything, because of what happened next.

He took off his pants.

And he was not wearing anything, not boxers, nor briefs, nor tightey whities, underneath them.

And then the next thing I knew, Seth... wasn't Seth anymore. He was a wolf. Or maybe the wolf had just changed back from being Seth.

The wolf was extremely large. As big as a decently sized car.

I wished that I had a remote control for life or something so I could rewind and pause and try to pinpoint exactly when it happened. As far as I could see, for a second it looked like he was flexing his muscles or something, and then... and then...

It was all very surreal.

It was like, my brain wasn't even processing what was happening. It was still kind of hung up on the whole Seth-taking-off-his-pants-thing. In fact, the only coherent thought running through my head right now was, "I just saw Seth's you-know-what. I just saw Seth's you-know-what. I wonder if he never wears underwear?"

So, as you can tell, my mind wasn't exactly functioning correctly at the moment.

And then the wolf raised his head and sniffed, and kind of pawed the ground, and ran off.

Just like that.

And I was left, just kind of sitting there, pressed against the rock.

And I was like, "Um. Okay. Wow. Seth's a wolf. He just turned into a wolf. Seth is a wolf. Did you see that Bailey? He's a werewolf. He just turned into a wolf. Isn't that nice, Bailey? He's a wolf."

I tried to get up, to go back to the house or something, but I felt really weird. Kind of... jello-y. Like I was floating, except at the same time all of my limbs felt like dead weight.

I gave up on trying to get up and collapsed, except I missed the rock and ended up on the ground.

It was nice down there. The dirt was cool against my face. Maybe I could just fall asleep..

I closed my eyes, blowing some damp, wet leaves out of my face.

Seth was a wolf.

Huh.

I squeezed my eyes tighter. I was starting to feel kind of weird.

I felt... sick. Yeah. Sick. Like when I had the flu.

I felt cold. Not icy cold, but this deep, kind of achy cold that was somewhere deep inside of me... But that didn't make any sense, because I was sweating. I could feel my shirt sticking to my back.

I wished I would stop. The sweat was turning icy, and I was starting to shiver.

Or, at least I was assuming I was shivering, because why else would I be shaking so hard? I tried to move another leaf out of my face, but my fingers couldn't even grasp the leaf because I was shaking so hard.

This was weird.

I felt shaky. I felt sick. Nausea was rising uncomfortably in my chest, creeping up the back of my throat.

I tried to push myself up off of the ground, but I couldn't seem to find my arms, and when I did the world went all bright and hazy around me, like a head rush.

It was getting worse. I was going to puke. There was a hissing noise that I realized was my breathing, hissing in and out too fast.

And that's when I really started to freak out.

Because aside from he queasiness, something else was rising in my chest. I recognized it from when I was eight years old and I was playing hide and seek with Ian. I had moved the six-packs of beer from the top of our washing machine, and I climbed in. Only after I had shut the lid on top of me that I realized what a bad idea that that had been.

I was stuck inside the washing machine and I couldn't move and I knew that I was going to run out of oxygen, but I also didn't make any noise because I was so, so scared that my step-dad would find me and get angry and lock me in and start the washing machine and the water would rise around me and.. and...

Eventually Ian found me. He was only five, and he had to rearrange the beer into a step so he could reach the lid of the washing machine, but eventually he got me out of there.

That's what it felt like right now. Minus the part where Ian rescued me.

It felt like I was drowning. I was breathing too quickly, but I couldn't get any hold on the air, and it was just rushing in and out of my lungs and I couldn't stop it, but at the same time it felt like there was water rising in my ribcage-

My body jerked forward and I threw up into the bushes.

And then I screamed.

Because Seth was a werewolf.

Seth.

Was.

A.

_FREAKING._

_WEREWOLF._

I was vaguely aware of a presence off to my right, of somebody's extremely cold hands prying at my hands, which I realized were clutching at my chest.

It was the man. It was the blonde man. He was talking to me. I didn't care.

I wanted to scream at him to help me, to get my head out from under the water, to help me breathe, but I couldn't find my voice anywhere inside of me.

He was lifting me up. I hoped I didn't throw up again.

Was it all real? All of the myths?

What about fairies? What about Big Foot? What about vampires?

I didn't understand.

Seth was a wolf.

I clutched onto the blonde man, desperate to make sure that there was still something solid in my life.

The ground disappeared from beneath me. I was floating.

Seth was a wolf.

God help me.

**I wrote a short Twilight horror one-shot called Blood on a White Lace Dress, and if you're into that type of thing, I would really appreciate it if you would check it out and tell me what you think. Thanks for reading!**


	17. Censorship Is Stupid

**I know this is kind of abrupt... but bear with me, OK? And yes, they're relationship does have a very big role in the Seth/Bailey plotline. I didn't do it just so I could write more kissing scenes. ;)**

* * *

Leah POV

* * *

I get it.

I totally do.

I mean, no matter how sick or creepy or downright _stupid_ I think imprinting is, I have still felt the love that's there. I have felt the deep need they have to please and protect that person. The unspeakable emotional pain and anger that they might go through if rejected (talking to you, Emily), and the all-consuming love.

Not that I sure as hell can't complain about it every chance I get, but I can't deny it.

So, yes, I can understand why Seth is going through great amounts of self hate right now, and if given the chance would probably drop an iron on his head or something.

But, everybody else? What's the deal, guys?

I mean, I guess Bailey's kinda cute, in a helpless kitten kind of way. But it wasn't like she made a huge impression. She barely even said anything.

Before we went down to the beach people would try to talk to her, and she would look at the ground and fiddle with this bracelet on her wrist and look so uncomfortable I started to think she had to pee or something. Or maybe that was just how she always looked. I had heard from Seth that she wasn't exactly a social butterfly.

However, despite all of that, everybody was still completely freaking out. Carlisle had seen her lying on the ground in the woods or something (Another point: what the hell did she think she was doing? If you want to tramp randomly through the woods you can go ahead and knock yourself out, but don't freaking go and have a panic attack while you're at it) and carried her, all sweaty and wide-eyed and out of breath back to our house.

Apparently she had seen Seth phase, and had a panic attack. Hyperventilated. Something like that.

And so now she was on Emily's living room couch and stuttering and gasping stuff about wolves (thanks a bunch, Mrs. Obvious) and Seth is sprinting back and forth along the beach and howling his head off and knocking over trees because once he heard about what happened he couldn't calm down enough to change back into a human. Jared is next to her and being all protective and stuff and saying things like, "Give her space, guys," and Kim is shadowing Jared and clutching onto him and apologizing over and over, and Embry is running back and forth between her and Seth and trying to calm both of them down. Quil is cracking his knuckles repeatedly which is something he only does when he's nervous, and Emily is crying and saying things like, "It's all my fault, it's all my fault, I wasn't paying attention, I could've killed her." _  
_

To which I would really like to say: Sure, Emily. Sure. You killed her. Feel free to go die in a ditch somewhere and get out of my life.

I wish Bailey had thought about what it would do to other people before she went and had a panic attack in the woods.

I loitered on the porch for a while, trying my best not to do or say anything, because when people passed me I could already tell they were prepared to grill me and say something about me being an insensitive jerk.

I tried to talk to Paul, seeing as we were the only two people in the pack who weren't "pro-imprint," but he was too busy seething and ranting and punching pieces of furniture about the fact that Carlisle had crossed the border without permission.

Give it a break, Paul. Nobody cares.

Nobody wanted me here, so I wasn't going to stay.

Funny how I had hated my job a couple weeks ago. Now I felt a little twinge of comfort when I opened up the glass door, inlaid with wire mesh, to the gas station, fluorescent lights and the red 'OPEN' sign glaring in my face. And I didn't think it was because the place was growing on me. I think it was because of...

Well. Ian.

He never expected anything from me. He never was mean to me or told me to do anything. He never went imprinting on my cousin.

"Hey," I called out to him. He was on the ground next to the cash register, leaning against a couple of crushed cardboard boxes and biting off the end of a red licorice stick. His head jerked up when he saw me, black rag of hair flopping across his eyes. He smiled.

I'de forgotten how great it is to have someone who's happy to see you.

"Leah! Hey. I thought you were an actual customer."

"Hell hasn't frozen over yet."

He laughed, pushing himself off of the floor. "Why're you here?"

"'Cause life sucks."

"So do gas stations. Granted, maybe not as much. What happened?"

I shrugged, and went to sit on the counter next to wear he was standing. I swung my legs and let my heels bang against the glass siding of the cashier desk.

"It's my brother's girlfriend. She's... being annoying."

"Your brother? Seth?"

"That would be him."

"He has a girlfriend?"

"Yup. Sorry to disappoint to."

"Shut up. I'm not gay. It's 'cause of my sister... I think she likes him."

"Sucks for her. They're pretty close."

"Like, how close?"

"Like, gonna get married someday close. Why do you care?"

"I told you. Because of my sister."

"Oh. Well, tell her to buzz off. Waste of her time. What's her name, anyway?"

When he didn't answer I looked over at him. He was looking down, corners of her mouth pulled down in a frown, fiddling with the end of the licorice in his mouth. I didn't like his sister. I had never met her (or at least I don't think I had), but it seemed like the only things that Ian ever got worked up about had to do with her. He cared about her more then he cared about me.

It was stupid, but I was jealous.

He shook his head. "You wouldn't know her."

"Why do you keep saying that? You are aware that La Push has about five hundred people, right? I might."

"I hope she doesn't know you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He gave me a floppy smile.

"She's shy. And she's kind of... soft. If somebody like you ever talked to her she would probably be terrified."

"Thank you. I enjoy being called terrifying."

"You're not as scary as you think you are."

I scowled at him. "I take that as an insult."

"I meant it as an insult."

I huffed, turning my face away from him, fully intending to give him the silent treatment, but the silence didn't seem natural. I turned back.

"Why do you care so much about your sister, anyway? I mean, she's older then you. And she's your _sister_."

"So?"

"So... I mean, I love Seth and all, but I let him solve his own problems. Let her do the same."

Ian shook his head, laughing without humor. "Oh, right. Her way of dealing is to shut down and cry in the bathroom."

"She sounds like a wimp."

"She's not a _wimp._" He said it more fiercely then I was expecting, and I regretted bringing up the conversation.

"It's just..." he continued, "With the whole thing with my dad... she doesn't know about that, you know? That he's here. In La Push. And I know I'm gonna have to tell her soon. And it's hard enough, with my mom and everything, and now I'm gonna have to tell her that Seth already has a girlfriend..."

"You sound like you're her mom."

He turned his face away from me, straightening up and walking over to one of the aisles to fiddle with one of the candy bar holders.

Dammit. I needed to stop ruining this.

"Do you watch movies?"

I was watching the side of his face and could see his smile at my blatant change in conversation topics. Lucky for me, He didn't say anything about it.

"Who doesn't? Wait. Let me guess. You."

"I never said that. What' your favorite?"

"The Hangover."

I snorted. "Of course."

"Do you have something wrong with fully grown men wearing babies?"

"Absolutely not. In fact, you're lucky. My mom didn't let me watch that until I was seventeen."

"There's a censored version, you know."

"Censorship is stupid."

He turned back to look at me, his eyes squinted in a "...um, what?" expression.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Censorship is stupid. Why is a word, which in reality is just a noise coming from somebody's mouth, so offensive to some people?"

He put one hand against the metal aisle separator, leaning to one side. "I don't think it's the word itself, Leah. It's the meaning."

"Then why am I allowed to say 'hate' and 'racism,' but I'm not allowed to say the 'f' word without parents covering their children's ears?"

"Because society has taught us that saying the 'f' word is a huge deal, so people are going to react like that."

"Exactly," I said, getting into it. This was something that had bothered me ever since I was a little kid, but whenever I told somebody about it they told me to shut up. "And if nobody made a big deal about it, then it wouldn't be like that, right? And it's not just cussing- I mean, why are movies with sex and stuff rated R, but thirteen year olds are allowed to see movies with death and guns?"

"Because... sex is more disturbing then death? Okay. Wait. Don't make fun of me for that. I see your point."

"Thank you," I said. "Finally. I told Seth the same thing and he told me that I was being weird."

"You are. Not that I don't see where you're coming from."

There was silence for a moment, and I could tell he was looking at me. I heard him take in a breath to say something else.

"That's not really something that the average person thinks about all of the time."

We looked at each other. He had came back over to next to me on the cashier booth, close enough that our jeans almost touched.

"That was a pick up line," he continued, and I raised my eyebrows at him, fighting back a smile. "After that you're supposed to say "'Well, I'm not an average person."

I smirked at him. "And then what?"

"I don't know. I hadn't really planned it after that."

"Are you hitting on me, Ian?"

"Absolutely not. Why do you ask?"

I could see his lips pressed together, trying not to smile, same as I was. The licorice was still there, flopping out of one corner of his mouth, pulling the corner of his lips down. I stared at it for a couple seconds. His lips were very red, for a boy and all.

Our eyes met.

_I wanted him to kiss me. Right now._

The thought flashed through my mind unexpectedly. I had known this guy for what... four days? Five days?

I hadn't thought that since Sam.

I leaned in. I could feel me hair brush against his face. I blinked. His eyebrows arched.

_Not yet. Not quite yet..._

I duck my head down and bit one end of the licorice, tugging it out of his mouth.

"Hey," he said, his voice huskier then normal. "I was eating that."

I slurped it up like a spaghetti noodle, until just an inch was left. I couldn't help myself. I giggled, even though the noise sounded odd coming out of my mouth.

"Come and get it, then."

_Now. Yes, now._

I closed my eyes and a second later he was crashing down on me.

My body was used to Sam. It was used to warm and gentle. It was not used to Ian.

I gripped onto the cold metal of the counter, feeling the need to gasp even though it had only been a second.

All of a sudden my blood was carbonated. It was swelling and pressing at my veins, sending dots of light into my vision, making my chest heave up and down against him.

His lips were pressing into mine. Pressing into my teeth and my tongue, cheek warm against the side of my nose, and I let go of the counter and took his face into my hands so I could arch closer. I loved the way there was no question about it. I loved the way his breath was hot down my neck, the sound of his breathing sticky in my ears...

My hands still on his face, I bit his bottom lip and pulled, then abruptly shoved him away from me.

His dark eyes were lighter. Filled with sparks, darting all over my face. He was breathing hard.

"How old are you, Ian?"

"Seventeen."

"Liar," I breathed. "You're in Seth's grade."

"Fourteen."

I gasped and jerked away from him. Making out with a skinny fourteen year old was better then kissing Sam?

"Bitch! You didn't tell me! Oh my gosh, I just kissed a fourteen year old. Do you have any idea how sick that is? You're still a freaking _kid_."

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. "I'll be fifteen in about a week. That counts for something, right?"

"I'm twenty-two. Did you know that, Ian? You just kissed a twenty-two year old."

"Sweet."

I stared at him. He honestly didn't seem bothered by it.

And that kiss felt _really _good.

"I don't even know if this is legal."

"Sure it is. I'm not gonna have _sex_ with you. And," he leaned in closer, his hands balled into fists and pressed on either side of my hips. "I was just trying to get back my licorice which you so rudely took from me. Can I please have it back now?"

I swallowed.

Whatever.

We were at eye level with each other. My eyes bore into his.

"So you're okay with illegal?"

"Sure. Illegal's fine. It's sexy."

I smiled.

"You know it, babe."

Seconds later, our lips were pressed together.

Better then Sam. Fourteen years old, but better then Sam.

**Next chapter is all Bailey POV. Thanks for all of the amazing reviews so far! **


	18. Crumbling Walls

**The end of this chapter is quite possibly the corniest thing I have ever written… but hey! It was so much fun to write! Please tell me how I did.**

**I regret to say that I will once again be gone for another week, so don't expect an update for five, maybe six, days.**

**Enjoy! (I certainly did…)**

Jared pulled his green Subaru up in front of my house. He had to pull into our front yard, because it was right off the highway and we didn't have a driveway.

Oh well. I never really liked that bush, anyways.

At Sam and Emily's house Seth told me to take shot-gun, but I wasn't just going to leave him sitting by himself in the back seat. Jared saw an impending argument and told us to can it and both sit in the back. So we did.

My forehead was pressed against the window. Street lights glowed dimly behind the cloud of condensation that my breath had made on the glass. I didn't really want to move.

The door _clicked_ open and a second later I heard the sound of it slam closed as Seth got out on the opposite side. He started walking slowly towards the house with his head down, hands in his pockets.

I stared after him and sighed.

"Give him time, Bailey."

I peered at Jared, to where he was looking sympathetically at Seth's retreating figure. He moved his eyes to my face.

"Just talk to him, okay? I know you have trouble with that," he smiled briefly at his own joke, before continuing, "But don't be too hard on him, okay? I can't imagine what_ I_ would do… if Kim…"

Right.

If Kim had gone running through the forest like a mentally retarded idiot, much like what I had done a couple hours previously.

I swallowed hard and nodded, taking another moment in the warm car before I fumbled with the door handle.

My footsteps on the crunchy grass seemed to be swallowed up in the heaviness of the darkness, like it was mad that I was disturbing it. I hurried up to where Seth was waiting right outside our door. I wanted him to take my hand, or tell me that it was all going to be okay, or… well, at least _look_ at me. But he didn't. He stared straight ahead, cold and hard at the door, hands still shoved into his pockets.

_It's open_, I wanted to say.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

All right. That was fine. You want to go mute on me now, Bailey? That was fine.

I reached past him and opened the door, letting it swing open and hang there for a couple seconds before I walked in, switching on lights as I went. Seth followed me, and eventually we both ended up in the kitchen.

_Please say something_.

I hugged my arms to myself and stood awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, not sure what to do.

_Are you mad at me?_

He stood, leaning against the doorway, still not looking at me.

_What the heck, Seth? _

I was starting to get just a little angry. I mean, panic attack in the woods aside, I think had taken the whole werewolves-and-vampires-exist thing pretty well.

Once I had drank a glass of apple juice provided by Emily and calmed down enough that I could breathe and think again, Sam had explained it all to me.

The Quileute legends. The wolf-telepathy thing. The age old battle between the wolves and the Cold Ones, the treaty…

At first it had been as if he was reading a shopping list to me. It was like_, uh huh, okay, all right, that's nice, werewolves? Oh, yeah, I totally believe you._

But then it set in a little bit more.

It _was_ real. I had just seen two examples, of both the wolves and the vampires, right in front of my eyes. And it wasn't that bad—Carlisle was nice, and being a werewolf didn't change Seth's personality, did it? No. It didn't.

It made it easier to think of it from an evolutionary point of view. Why _shouldn't_ they be real? Vampires were just another species of human. Some species of fish had evolved to be more… let's say, _feisty_, then others, so why shouldn't people have done the same? If humans were minnows, then vampires were sharks.

So that was okay. And Carlisle really was nice.

The fact that there were Werewolves, or, excuse me, "_spirit wolves_" as Sam said, was a little harder to take in, because it was based on the Quileute "magic," and everything.

But. Whatever.

I had tactfully decided that if I was going to freak out about that again, then I would do it tomorrow, after I had gotten at least eight hours of sleep.

I stared at Seth, the image of the sandy brown, lanky wolf popping into my brain.

Could that really have been Seth?

_Yes_, I thought. _It was._

"Bailey." I looked up from my bracelet that I had been twisting into a tight knot. Seth was clenching onto the doorframe so hard with his hands that I could see the whites of his knuckles from where I was standing. He still didn't look at me.

"I can't even tell you…"

He talked slowly, through gritted teeth, like every word hurt him. My eyebrows furrowed. What was wrong?

"I can't even tell you how sorry I am. For everything. For everything that happened today, for everything I didn't tell you… I- you have no idea how much I _hate_ myself right now. I'm so, so sorry."

I think I choked on the air that I had been breathing in, trying unsuccessfully to say something. My eyes widened as I stared at his tense figure.

"I understand if you're angry at me, or if you don't want to see me, or if you're-" his voice came out strangled, like someone was choking him, "-scared of me. I understand. I'll go away if you really want me to, okay? I'll do anything. Just ask me and I'll do anything."

Um.

Why in _hell_ would he think I wanted him to- to _go away?_

"S-Seth…"

He winced, like I had just shrieked at him, and peered up at me from underneath his eyelashes quickly, than jerked his eyes, darker than usual, back down.

"Seth," I tried again. "I don't- I don't want- I mean, I… what are you…"

I sounded like an idiot. I knew it. But I didn't understand. Why would he _ever _think I was afraid of him? Doesn't he know that, as of lately, I'm only truly happy when I'm around him?

"I would never hurt you, Bailey," he said after he realized that no further words were going to come out. "You know that, right? _Never_. I know that after what just happened, it's hard to believe that, but you have to trust me, okay? Please. Please, Bailey."

I stared at him. Swallowed hard.

"And-" he started to move forward like he was going to come closer to me, but then he froze and drew back, turning to face the counter and balling his fists, pressing them against the faux-granite.

"I know how screwed up all this is. I _know_. And if it hurts you that much, then- then I can go, Bailey. I can make it so that all of this messed up, stupid werewolf stuff will stay out of your life, and I'll do my best to keep it from you. But even if I do that, I'll… I'll never be able to keep _myself_ away from you. I can't. I lo- I mean, I like you too much. And I'm sorry."

He squeezed his eyes shut, all of his features seeming to draw in.

"I can't even tell you how sorry I am."

Watching his face, watching how dark it was and much pain it held and how choked his voice sounded…

It hurt. It hurt_ really bad._

Whenever I imagined the guy that I would end up with, I've always felt slightly guilty. Of the scenarios I've imagined with him (right along with him proposing to me via love-letter that he tucked under my pillow as I was asleep), the fight scene was always one that I could see clearly—if we ever got into a fight, I would _not_ be the "let's talk it out" type of girl. I would shut the door on him, not answer his phone messages, hold a grudge and make him work to get me back.

Isn't that just horrible?

And I would like to say it is because I'm an independent woman who needs to know that her man is willing to fight to get her back, but really, it's just because I've always secretly liked the feeling that I'm important enough for somebody to be unhappy over me. For them to worry over me, to want to have me back…

I know that sounds awful, but in all honesty, hasn't everybody dreamed about running away, just to see who would run after them?

It was like that.

Except, when I stood in the middle of our kitchen and stared at Seth as he tore himself up, that feeling was nonexistent.

If Seth and I fought, I would be the one to grovel on my knees for him to come back to me. I would accept his proposal, even if it was through a text. And as I stood there, watching him and listening to him apologize over and over, that space beneath my chest that seemed to be reserved specifically for him was filled with this deep, achy feeling that made my whole body go cold. Watching Seth go through pain and not being able to do anything about it because words kept getting stuck on my tongue as I tried to push them out…

It was like watching a puppy being burned and then beaten over the head with a spatula and then drowned in a muddy river.

It was too much. It hurt too much to see him like this.

Like the idiot I was, I was about to cry.

Oh God, please don't let me cry. Please, please, please that is the worst possible thing that could happen right now…

"Do you want me to leave?"

He asked it to me so softly that I barely heard it over the sound of my breathing. His face had changed—it wasn't hard or angry anymore, instead his mouth had relaxed and eyebrows gone up, eyes gentle and big, staring at me.

No, Seth. I do not want you to leave. And I'll tell you that in just a second as soon as I find my voice.

Seeing him like that, completely open and vulnerable, was almost worse than when he had been glaring straight ahead.

In that moment, I found out that, in most cases, the harder you try not to do something, the more your body does that something.

Tears started pooling above my lower eyelid. _No, no, no…_

Say something, say something to Seth, don't cry, say something to Seth, don't cry…

"Please talk to me. I know I'm being unfair. I know. I'm sorry. Just please talk to me. I _need_ to know that… that you don't hate me. Do you hate me?"

The softness of his voice barely concealed the pain that was ripping and clawing underneath it.

Okay, that was just too much.

How could he _EVER_ think that I would hate him? It wasn't physically possible for me to hate this boy standing in front of me. It made my stomach hurt to think about it.

But there I was, looking down with my fists pressed against my face like it would somehow protect me from the hurt in Seth's voice. And I had heard the words "internal battle" before, but I had never truly understood what they meant.

Because I wanted so, so badly to tell him that I loved him. _I love you, and I don't blame you for whatever you're beating yourself up about, and I just want you to stay with me. For as long as you can. Preferably, forever. _

But the words would. Not. Come. Out.

There was glue in my mouth, a brick wall down my throat, a divider between my brain and my vocal chords. I opened my mouth and felt like I was gasping for air, and at this point I wanted to shriek or just say something, _anything_. But my body wouldn't let me.

And I was so frustrated and angry and sad that the tears started to pool over and run down my nose and over my fists, balled up on my cheeks, and now I really couldn't breathe or say anything, or even move.

But he still needed to know. If anything, that I had at least heard what he had said.

I lifted my head, shutting my eyes closed as hard as they could because I knew that as soon as he saw that I was crying, he was going to start splintering, and if started splintering, then that would mean that I was going to break.

I shoved one of my legs forward to go to him because I _needed _him. I needed him to tell me that it would be okay.

But I didn't make it far.

I opened my eyes, half expecting to see a wolf in our kitchen, but it was still Seth. It seemed like all of the barriers that he had made for himself just spontaneously combusted.

Before I could even blink there was a sound like a growl and Seth was standing in front of me and he crushed me to him. I was swallowed up in his warmth, his arms making a barrier between me and the outside world along with all of its screwiness and sadness. I tucked my arms in and pressed my face into his chest, and let his shirt dry up the tears. He held me so close that I could barely breathe, but that was completely okay, because it felt like Seth was all I needed. I didn't even need oxygen.

Along with breaking down his own barriers, he also broke down mine. That wall in my throat? Crumbled. The glue in my mouth? Washed away.

I arched my back so that I could look up at him, his shoulders curved around me, eyes staring down at me with so much expression that it made me feel dizzy to look at them.

"It's okay," I choked out, knowing that it was, because I could feel his heat along every inch of my body.

"It's okay. I can't forgive you-" his body stiffened, his hands that were pressed against my back clenching onto the fabric of my shirt, "-because I never blamed you. I don't hate you. Never go away."

As soon as I finished my sentence his eyes lighted up, and his happiness brought _me_ so much happiness that my heart started to feel like it was squeezing and exploding at the same time and I went up as far as I could on the tips of my toes, reaching for him.

When I knew he saw what I wanted I closed my eyes and searched for him, heart seeming to stop until his lips finally touched mine. And then he was kissing me and I was kissing him and my skin was glowing and his touch burned right down to that hollow beneath my chest.

Everything glowed

His mouth opened and closed against mine, gently at first, and then amounted in pressure as he asked for more and I pressed against him and tried to give him everything I had. My back arched unconsciously and my fingernails were digging into the skin on his chest, pressing hard and searching for purchase because I felt like I was floating. I gasped when his tongue met mine sent fireworks and pops of bubbles down my spine and he laughed, the rumble vibrating my whole body and sending heat to my fingertips and behind my eyes. I wanted more.

I came up for a second to breathe, but I didn't get the chance because he snarled "-oh no you don't-" and my tongue was once again caught up with his. I freed my arms so I could grab onto his neck and lift myself up, wrapping my legs around his waist, and he held me there, moving his head down and spreading the fire to my neck, where he nipped and pulled at the skin underneath my jawbone then smoothed away the mark with his tongue.

We were on one of the dining room chairs. How did that happen?

I didn't have time to worry, or even care, because then our legs were tangled up with each other's and he flipped me over and held me with one arm, solid beneath my back, and I pr-

"Oh my gosh. Holy freaking son of a cow. Do it in the dining room, why don't you guys? I'm going to have to _eat there_, you know."

Crap.

Ian.


	19. Can You Say Awkward?

My body went rigid. All of a sudden, Seth's touch seemed very far away.

"Ian," I gasped, disentangling my arms from where they had made their way around his neck. I pushed against Seth's chest hard enough that he had to snap his arm out to hold onto the table so he didn't fall off the chair.

"Um, we were just- um- I mean-"  
I jerked to my feet, tripped over Seth's legs, and ended up lurching over to the counter. I grabbed onto it with white knuckles, trying to gather my bearings.

I felt very odd.

Like I had been sick for the past week, and this was the first time I had gotten out of bed. Really shaky, skin hot, my actions lethargic.

My mind flashed back to what had just happened. It replayed glimpses of Seth's lips on mine, his warmth through the soft t-shirt, how solid he had felt when I was crushed up against him…

Just thinking about it sent a hazy hot cloud down my spine.

I swallowed hard. Ian looked slightly nauseated.

"What… what are you doing?" My voice sounded too hoarse.

"Yeah, what are you doing?" Seth had gotten to his feet and was looking at Ian with a surprising amount of hate in his eyes. He came to stand slightly in front of me, arms reaching out to me. I cringed away. For some reason it didn't seem right in front of Ian. He turned to look at me, confused, when his hand grasped open air.

I ducked my head down.

At the tone of Seth's voice Ian immediately became defensive.

"What am _I_ doing here? I live here, bro. She's my sister. By the way, Bail, I really need to talk to you."

My alerts were immediately up. Talk to me? Why couldn't he do this in the morning?

I knew Seth and Ian knew each other from school. I also knew that Ian wasn't particularly fond of Seth, something that I hadn't really thought about until now.

"Yeah, well what're you doing here at midnight?" Seth asked, ignoring the last part about him needing to talk to me. Ian's face darkened.

"Why the hell do you care?"

Seth turned back to look at me, concern that I didn't understand pushing down his eyebrows.

"Does he always come home this late? Why didn't you tell me you were all alone at night?"

I opened my mouth to say something, but Ian beat me to it.

"Because that right there is the definition of stalker, buddy."

"I'm not _stalking_ her." He spit out the word like it was poison. "I'm worried about-"

"Worried about her? Right. Because we all know that there are serial killers just stalking the streets of Forks every night," he said sarcastically.

They stared at each other for a couple of seconds, tension mounting. I should say something. I should really say something. _Say something, Bailey._

"Right then," said Ian, interrupting the tight silence. "I can't say that it's exactly been nice to see you, seeing as you were sucking face with my sister in our dining room, nonetheless, but I'm going to have to kindly ask you to leave."

Seth glared at him, venom appearing in his eyes at the mention of "sucking face." Excellent choice of wording, Ian. No offense, but Seth could probably beat you to a pulp.

"Yup," he said, clapping his hands together. "You leaving would be great. Like, right now." He gestured down the hallway to the door.

A beat of silence.

"No."

Ian's eyebrows shot up.

"No? Um, sorry to break it to you dude, but this is kind of my turf, and-"

"I'm not leaving her. Especially not with you."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. I never asked your opinion on me, all I want you to do is-"

"What is your problem?"  
"What is _my_ problem? You're the one with the goddamn problem, dude. Do I need to get a restraining order, or-"

"I have every right to be here, just as much as you do."

"Um, no you don't. I live here. You don't. Get that through you're retarded brain."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"I just did."

"Go away. Leave Bailey alone."

"Oh my God, what does this have to do with Bailey? I'm her brother! I've never-"

"Yeah, some brother. Do you even care about her?"

"I- I-" Ian sputtered, his face starting to turn red. I was watching them with a growing feeling of horror.

_Say something, Bailey. Right now. They can't fight._

"Of course I do! She's my sister!"

"Then why don't you-"

"Leah's your sister, right? I don't see you following her around protecting her from serial killers, or whatever you're saying I should do."

"That's because Leah's different. Leah can take care of herself."

"And Bailey can't? _Idiot._ You don't even know her."

"I don't know her? I know her better than you ever-"

"You don't know _anything_!"

I could hear the sound of both of their harsh breathes in the silence that followed Ian's outburst. Seth's fists were clenched into tight balls by his side. Ian's gaze met mine. I knew what he was thinking.

Our step-dad.

He would be drunk. He would come home, and grab Ian by his collar, his brain fueled by a bar fight and booze.

_"Hit me, boy. Gimme your best shot."_

And Ian would, because it was punch or be punched, and after the fights he would always be better for a couple of days.

My mother was already long gone by then. She didn't notice her eleven year old son had bruises around his neck. He said he was doing him good, teaching him how to fight.

I would do what Ian said and lock myself in the bathroom, and wait there and cry until he told me it was okay to come back out again.

Ian was right. Seth didn't know _anything._

Ian's face changed all of a sudden, something sparking in his eyes.

"Wait, wait, wait… You're Leah's brother. Oh my God." He turned to face me, his face malevolent. "He's cheating on you. She told me he was. He already has a girlfriend."

The words that I had been struggling to say got caught up in my throat.

What? No. No way.

How could that even be possible? The thought was almost so absurd I didn't believe it.

Seth was shaking. He was literally shaking, his form getting blurry around the edges, the legs of the chair he was grasping jostling against the floor.

"How- how _dare_ you! How can-how can you even- I would never-"

The words were thrust out through bared teeth, a low noise starting to come out from his chest. It sounded like a growl. His eyes switched to my face, turning from lethal to pleading. He grasped both of my arms with his hands, just a little too tight for it to be comfortable.

"Bailey. Listen to me. I don't know what in hell he's talking about, I need you to-"

"Don't touch her!"

"Get the fu-"

_"Stop it!"_

I finally found my voice, buried somewhere underneath the shaking and the anger. My gaze zigzagged between the two of them, something thrashing around in my stomach.

This was horrible. This was so, so wrong. They were fighting, and now Seth might've been cheating on me, and all I really wanted to do was sleep, but Ian needed to talk to me…

Something told me that, girlfriend or not, Seth would always forgive me. I didn't want to take that chance with Ian.  
"Please leave." I tried to say it authoritatively, but instead it came out nearer to a whisper.

They both looked at each other expectantly.

"Seth," I clarified. "Please go."

His eyes went wide. I decided not to look at his face anymore, or I knew the hurt on it would keep me from sleeping. Why did this keep happening?

"What? Is this because you think I'm cheating? I'm not. I swear- I swear on my grave, my mother's grave, whatever you-"

"You heard her, dude. Leave."  
"You stay the _hell_ out of this."

_Seth will forgive you. Seth will forgive you. Seth will forgive you, Ian might not._

"Seth- go. Away."

It was silent. I kept my head down, squeezing my eyes shut. I could hear the sound of his hard swallow, could almost feel his pain pressing against my lungs and pulling at my chest and making it hard to breathe.

He turned, and I could hear his muffled footsteps down the hallway, until they were interrupted by the creak of the door as it opened.

And then he was gone.

At least he hadn't hurt Ian.

"Well," Ian said, his posture immediately relaxing when the door was quietly closed. "Isn't he retarded. Why are you even-"

"What do you want, Ian? What do you need to talk to me about? It'de better be urgent, or I might kill you."

"Oh. Yeah. Well, it's not exactly _urgent_, I just really wanted him out of our house."

I made a noise in the back of my throat and started to turn towards the door to find Seth and apologize for everything.

What was he planning on doing, anyways? Run home?

Oh. Right. Werewolf.

God, this was so surreal.

"No, wait- I mean, it is important. I just…"

He looked up at me from his eyelashes, something I knew he only did when he was nervous. That fact, in turn, made me _very _nervous.

"Spit it out, Ian."

"Um. Okay. So, like, don't freak or anything, 'cause I know you will, but it's not that bad, and I was totally going to tell you sooner, but then…" He cracked his knuckles, another nervous habit.

I stared at him.

"Um. I don't really know how to say this… but. Um."

"Ian-"

"Our step-dad? Remember him?"

My mouth went dry with fear.

Of course. Of course I remember, Ian. How could I forget?

"Yeah, well… he's here. In Forks. I'm sorry."

I closed my eyes.

No. No way.

Somewhere outside, a wolf howled


	20. Ugly Ugly Ugly Word

I stood statue still in the shower.

The water felt too hot on my face as it dripped off of my forehead, getting stuck on my eyelashes. I was sure my fingers and toes were wrinkled from being under the water for such a long time, and the steam was clouding the small bathroom.

It was getting kind of hard to breathe.

I decided to blame it on the steam.

_Okay, Bailey. You're all right. You're okay. Everything will be okay._

No, self. Everything will most definitely NOT be okay. Did you hear anything Ian just said? And Seth… no, I think I'll stay in this shower until I turn into a puddle of mush and swirl down the drain. That would be much nicer then dealing with my life right now.

_Stop that. Dreaming about disappearing down a shower drain will not solve your problems. _

My problems.

What were my problems, again?

I gritted my teeth and blew a watery sigh out my nose. It was something that I had really, really been trying hard not to think about for the past hour, but I might as well. It would be nice to get organized.

_All right. Start with the easiest one, work you're way down. _

Problem #1: Seth.

In the mental list I was making, I started out with The Kiss.

What had I been _thinking_? Oh, I know: I wasn't. Looking back, remembering that kiss, made me cringe with embarrassment. Right afterword I had been a bit preoccupied with Ian, and the taste of Seth's tongue still lingering in my mouth made it impossible to think rationally. Now, of course, that I was thinking rationally, that kiss was going to go in my Top Ten List of Most Embarrassing Moments. Right up there with the time I had stomach flu at Ian's fourth grade graduation and puked all over the kindergartener in the seat in front of me and made him cry.

I had basically thrown myself on Seth without his assent or invitation like some sex-starved idiot who-

Oh God.

Oh God oh God oh God oh God. Was that what he thought of me? A kiss_. _I had just wanted to kiss him. Nothing more, I swear. I wasn't even really thinking at the time, what with his warmth clouding up my thoughts and all.

And what if he didn't like it? What if it was the worse kiss he had ever experienced?

I know what you probably think: shy, awkward, halfway pretty girl. Probably never been kissed before tonight, right?

WRONG!

I have, in fact, been kissed before. It was during a game of Spin the Bottle at a church youth meeting or something (Spin the Bottle? What type of chruch did you go to? Answer: a crappy one), and everybody was playing, so I quietly sat down on the outskirts of the circle, far enough in that nobody could bother me for not playing, but far enough out that I could still say that I wasn't. I thought.

But, lo and behold, only on the second round the lip of the bottle ended up pointing right smack in my direction, and next thing I knew there was this boy smashing his lips against mine.

The only things I remember about that kiss was that it was lukewarm and sticky and tasted like medicated chapstick, and I wasn't even thinking about the kiss because I was paying so much attention to his ear, which was very shiny and red and right at my eye level. Kind of a sucky first kiss.

But kissing Seth? Kissing Seth was not lukewarm. Kissing Seth didn't feel like some unidentified object was randomly pressing itself against my lips. Kissing Seth left no space in my brain for me to pensize about his ears. Kissing Seth had been...had been...

It seemed like it was impossible for something that felt so good to me to feel bad for him. It didn't make sense.

But it wasn't like I had any real experience in the subject besides from chapstick-boy, so what did I know?

And what if I _was_ in fact an abominable kisser, andevery time he saw me, he would associate my horrible kissing with me being a horrible person, and then-

_Stop. You're not helping yourself, Bailey. Next problem._

Right. Next problem.

Also having to do with Seth.

I briefly remember the conversation I had with Ian fifteen minutes ago, when I was desperately scrabbling for something to say that didn't have to do with my step-dad. I was also trying very hard not to cry, because one of the rules I had for myself was to never cry in front of Ian.

* * *

"_What did you say about Seth… about him… cheating?" _

_I choked over the word. Ian's face darkened._

"_oh. __Yeah. He is. Bastard. I suggest slapping him the next time to you see him. Or, even better, give him a nice kick to the g-"_

"_How do you know?"_

"_Because his sister told me. Leah."_

_For some reason his face went red when he mentioned her name, and he didn't meet my eyes._

"_Leah? You work with her, right? Are you _sure_? What did she say?"_

_For some reason the thought of Seth cheating on me seemed to go against nature. It felt like the pull that I felt towards him was too strong to be muddled by him loving another girl._

_But if it turned out to be true…_

_I think I would die._

"_Yeah, I'm sure. She even said that he had had his girlfriend over that very day, and she-"_

"_Ian."_

"_What? I'm trying to explain. Anyways, she said his girlfriend came over and-"_

"_Ian. That was me."_

"…_Oh."_

_It was silent for a moment._

"_Nevermind, then. Forget I said anything."_

* * *

And that was that.

Seth wasn't cheating on me. Thank God.

However, I had still told him to leave, to get out of the house. I took a horrible little bit of pleasure in how hurt he had looked. Because if it hurt that bad for him to go away, then that would mean he would want to come back to me, right?

At least that was what I told myself.

Because it was dark and past midnight and because everything seems worse when it's nighttime and you're alone in a shower, a horrible thought wormed itself into my brain.

What if Seth didn't love me the way I loved him?

What if he didn't love me at all?

Yeah, well, saying that was one thing. Believing it and moving on?

Impossible.

I should really not have been doing this at 2 AM in the morning in the shower. All of the worst situations kept popping up in my mind. I could feel doubt creeping up at the edges of all of the recent memories I had with him, telling me that he didn't _really _love me, that he hadn't _really _wanted to kiss me.

I tactfully decided not to think about Seth right now. After all, I already had my solution to Problem #1: no matter what I told myself, I could not live without Seth. So whatever I had to say or do to get him to forgive me, I would do it. End of story.

Problem #2:

This one wasn't as easy.

My step-dad. He was here. He was-

He was-

Ian said-

I didn't-

…

I felt my throat closing up. Memories nudged at the walls in my brain. Horrible memories that gnawed at my heart and made me feel sick.

I shut the water off.

It was too quiet.

I was too cold.

I couldn't do this.

The floor made creaking noises under my feet. I left a trail of water behind me that shone in the dim porch light, filtering in through the blinds in strips. I wrapped a towel around myself and made my way to my bedroom. It was pitch black, and I went slowly, so I didn't fall and hit my head on a lamp and break the lamp and kill myself.

The blankets were warm. Not as warm as Seth and not nearly as safe, but they would do. I crawled in, still cocooned in the towel, and let my sopping hair drip all over the pillow. I pulled the blankets up over my head and curled up in a ball.

For twenty minutes I laid there, listening to the rain and trying my damn hardest not to think about anything.

This wasn't working.

I got out of bed and padded to the doorway. I stayed perfectly still and listened until I heard Ian's soft breathing from his open door across from me. Good. I closed the door softly and dragged a couple blankets onto the floor, then curled up on the carpet and pulled them over me.

For the first time since we had moved to La Push, I cried myself to sleep.

* * *

October 4, 2009

* * *

It was lunch period. My least favorite time of the day. I was always lonely, though I knew I shouldn't complain-it was my own fault.

I knew that all of the other fourteen year olds were in the cafeteria, dodging flying french fies and scraping Jello off of dirty plastic trays and having a dandy old time.

Me? Naw. I was _way_ too cool for that. I spent my lunch periods alone in the computer lab. Normally I would munch on my sack lunch, packed in one of those "We Appreciate Your Service!" Wal-Mart bags, and push myself across the room in the swivel chairs when I was sure nobody was watching. It was better then sitting by myself and trying to become invisible. Or attempting to make conversation -the horror!- with people who had been in my class for three years straight but still thought my name was Bertha.

Today, however, my lunch sat untouched. My swivel chair was still beneath me. My heels, in their beat-up purple Sketchers, rested on the edge of the blue plastic, my arms wrapped around them, and my mouth pressing into my jean-clad knees.

I was staring at the computer screen. The cursor blinked in the searchbox. With each blink I felt like it was teasing me. With each blink the image of my step-father's face flashed in my mind, and I remembered what happened last night like I had watched it through somebody else's eyes. Like a movie. That would be nice. Movies usually had happy endings.

_blink...blink...blink..._

_taunt...taunt...taunt..._

I reached out with one finger. Typed a lowercase "a".

It gave me suggestions: _"amazon," "apple," "aol"..._

I deleted it and quickly tucked my arm back in, then went back to staring at the computer screen until the Google logo started blending into itself.

Took a deep breath. Took another one. Typed the word into the search box, one slow letter at a time. Wrapped my arm back around my knees, looked at the word as it stared back at me from behind the flourescent-lit screen.

.

.

abuse

**.**

**.**

Ugly ugly ugly word.

Pressed "enter."It gave me 1,140,000,000 results. That was sick.

I looked behind me into the hallway, making sure nobody was seeing this, and uncurled myself and hunched over the computer screen, trying my best to hide this part of myself from any curious eyes. The first result- **_Abuse_**_- Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia_. I clicked on it.

_**Abuse** is the improper usage or treatment for a bad purpose, often to unfairly or improperly gain benefit. Abuse can come in many forms, such as: physical or verbal maltreatment, injury, sexual assault, violation, rape, unjust practices; wrongful practice or custom; offense; crime, or otherwise verbal aggression._

I swallowed, and then regretted it two seconds later. For some reason I felt sick to my stomach.

Why was I doing this?

My step-father wasn't-he wasn't- he wasn't...

_...abusing..._

abusing me. No way. I read the definition again. "Maltreatment?" I barely even knew what that meant. Of course that wasn't what was going on. I should just stop now. Stop now, Bailey.

I looked on the side of the webpage, to all of the blue links on the side, directing you to different types... I caught my breath. The list went on, and on, and on... 119 different types of "abuse."

I should not be doing this. I should not be doing this. Close this page right now, Bailey. This is not what's going on. Close the page right now.

_1.15 Adolescent abuse_

_See: Anti-social behaviour, Juvenile delinquency, Parental abuse by adolescents..._

_Parental abuse of adolescents_

Do not click. Do not click. You're just going to scare yourself.

I swallowed again, my throat dry and painful. What was the truth?

If I click on it, then it will be final.

_**Child abuse** is the physical, sexual or emotional mistreatment or neglect of a child or children. See: neglect, physical abuse, psychological/emotional abuse, and child sexual abuse._

I balled my hands into fists and placed them in my lap, leaning back. Judging by the miniscule size of the scroll bar, the page was long. I might as well get comfortable.


	21. I Really Could've Used That College Fund

I guess that was the year that it changed.

Before, it had always been: Yes, my dad is mean and sometimes hits my brother and spits on me. Why are you looking at me funny? Is that not normal?

But that year, it changed. More specifically: that year in _health class _it changed.

Our health class was nothing that wasn't to be expected in a public school in a mediocre town in Iowa. Basically, they stuffed all of us girls into a classroom that I'm pretty sure was once a janitorial closet and smelled like cat pee, and then had our grossly overweight PE teacher teach us how to put on condoms using a banana that was probably bigger then the combined you-know-whats of the entirety of the boys 8th grade class.

"Just like puttin' on pantyhose, girls," our PE teacher said.

The condoms, I mean.

But I'm getting of topic, aren't I?

Anyways, in between that and forced conversations about the dreaded p-word, they also made us _read. _Not only Bboks from the 1970s called "You and Your Sexuality: Your Guide to Getting It On" (I'm dead serious), we also had to read all this crap on mental health and stress and peer pressure and parents mistreating their kids.

And at first I was like, uh-huh, all right, get on with it, I really want this period to be over because the cat pee smell is really giving me a headache, but then I actually started thinking about what they were saying. And then it was like:

Well.

Crap.

Why does that sound familiar?

And so I did pretty much the only thing I knew how: I researched it. That first day in the computer lab with the Wikipedia page was only the beginning. Everyday for about a month afterwords I would spend the whole lunch period in there, reading physcological affects, causes, types, stories, therapy treatments, and anything else I could get my hands on via Google.

I know. It was sick and creepy and weird.

And it wasn't like I didn't already know what child abuse was. I wasn't that much of an idiot. Dr. Phil would probably say that it was my subconcious trying to release the built up anxiety and inner anger I had over the whole situation.

I would tell him to piss off. If I wanted to get off pent up anxiety, I would go kick a wall or something.

But it _did _make me feel better, in this messed up kind of way. Reading about it online, where it was all so clean and precise and neat (This is what it is. This is what happens. This is what you do to get help.) made it feel so much more managable. And though I had pretty much accepted it by then, reading the articles with the big words that I could barely understand made it seem so unattached from what was actually happening, that it was easy to believe that this wasn't my life I was actually reading about.

And when Google started giving me some sites with questionable content (what Weiner dogs have to do with child abuse, I'll never know, but you'de be surprised by how many times they came up), that was when I turned to the books.

My mom was a librarian back then. I don't know why. All she did was tell kids to "Shhhh!" all day for minimal wage.

Anyways, it turned out that the books were a big mistake.

Because, I mean, I totally feel for all of those beautiful girls with scars all over their bodies whose father hits them Every. Single. Night. And starves them so that they have model-worthy bodies, but at the same time they won't tell their incredibly hot male best friend about it because they're too ashamed.

I really do. Feel for them, I mean.

But honestly... If you're too "ashamed" to tell anybody about it, then it couldn't be that bad. In fact, I would have killed (not really, but done something really drastic) to have my father hit me.

Yes, that sounds screwed up, but do you know why?

Because you're a sick masochist who secretly likes getting attention from-

No. Because I would have been out of there _so_ fast. One call to 911, child services, _anything_, and I would have been out of there.

But it wasn't like that.

I never came to school with bruises on my face.

My step-father never called me ugly.

He never raped me or starved me.

But, oh my God, sometimes it felt just as bad.

He had this horrible, _horrible _laugh. Sometimes he would look at me, I mean, really _look at me_, all up and down in a creepy way that felt really dirty, then he would make this disgusted face like I wasn't good enough and then he would start to laugh.

He would do random things, like stick a broom over our doorway and say that it was so nobody could come in and hurt us. Except that was totally stupid, because the broom was on the _inside_, and so it wasn't even doing anything, but when I tried to move it to go outside he said "HEY!" really loudly and it scared me _so bad _because I thought he was going to hurt me and I didn't want to die from a stupid old broom, but then he didn't do anything but pick it up and throw it across the room so that it hit a window and then dropped to the floor.

And then he laughed.

Or l'd come up to him, try to get him to sign one of my papers for school, and I remember one time he took it and he bit one side of the paper in his mouth and then with the other hand he took it and ripped it all the way down. And then I watched as he tore it up into confetti and then he sprinkled it over me, so it got stuck all in my hair.

"Only an A, Bailey? You tryin' to impress your dear old pops with only an _A_? Try again, sweetheart."

And then he laughed and laughed and laughed. It was more of a screech, really, and it hurt my ears and made this horrible feeling boil in my stomach.

And then there was always what happened when I sometimes tried to talk around him. He would spit. On me. A big wad that dripped down my shirt, and I would freeze mid sentence and stare at him horrified, and he would stare at the stain on my clothes, and then you know what he did?

He laughed.

Cause it was just so damn funny.

It came to the point, where all of this little things made it so that it was like a game between the two of us. Whenever I was around him I tried to stay invisible. I didn't know what would tick him off. It was like I was always holding my breath, stepping around the land mine.

All the same, what was he _really _doing wrong? Nothing. He laughed a lot. Isn't laughing a good thing? Just thinking back at all the things that happened, they seemed so stupid. Almost funny. Nothing that he could really get in trouble for.

Except with Ian.

He hit Ian.

I didn't want to think about that.

We left when I was sixteen.

One day I came into my room and found him going through my top dresser drawer, picking up all of my underwear and bras and fingering them, holding them up delicately one by one before dropping them back. That was when I knew we _really _had to go, because I SO did not feel like having my step-father's child.

I never thought about the month leading up to before we left, and I wasn't going to start now. It made me feel sick.

And right now, what I really needed was a pint of Ben and Jerry's Rocky Road, not some bullcrap about my step-father running through my head.

It was around three in the morning. I had woken up exhausted, my pathetic crying jag having exhausted me, but I couldn't fall back to sleep.

Ian said he had called my mother from Iowa, begged her to take him back. He said he had changed. He said he had gotten help. He said he still loved her, and he wanted to make amends with me and Ian.

And the worst part? Ian believed him.

Even worse? My mother used my college funds to fly him here and get him an apartment.

So he was here.

Screw you, mother.

Not even US here, or Washington here, but _here _here, as in-

"God dammit-"

_ . Screeeek._

"-cking bushes. Bailey? Are you-"

_Grooooan. Snap._

"Ow! Jesus! Bailey-"

And apparently, Seth was _here _here as well. And was currently sopping wet, and prying open my window.


	22. Sopping Beauty

**I would just like you to know that I have a handwritten list that I spent entirely way too much time on of all of the people who have reviewed, subscribed, or favorited this story, and I keep it tacked up on the bulletin board above my bed, and so I see it whenever I wake up and it makes me really happy. That is how much I love all of you, in a completely unweird I-don't-know-you-but-you-read-my-story kind of way. Reviews make me write better and faster (even if they only have two words, it's still nice to have concrete evidence that somebody likes my story), and I thank everybody who has taken the time out of their day to do that for me. **

**:)**

**And with that, enjoy the chapter. **

Seth was here.

Just being in his presence was how I would imagine being on drugs would feel. Not the hallucinations and kidney failure and all of that, but the perceptible flood of relief that washed through my whole body as I took a deep breath, the smell of rain mixing in with the laundry detergent his mother used and the woods and that deep, dirt-like smell that was distinctly _Seth_.

He swore again as he used his arms to push himself, head-first, into my room, landing in a wet pile on the carpet.

"Seth!" I said just so happy that he was here that I couldn't care less that he was probably waking up Ian and ruining our good wood flooring. "What-what're you doing?" I was laughing, I was so deleriously happy to have him here.

His face had been deadly serious, tired, and almost scary looking in the dim lighting when he first came in, but when he saw me laughing his face changed to mirror my smile.

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm coming to see my most favorite person in the world, of course. She does live here, right?"

"Well, whoever that is," I said jokingly, "I'm sure she'de still be here in the morning."

He pushed himself into what was close to a sitting position, facing me in the darkness. The dim lighting from outside glinted off of rain droplets on his face, and there were the familiar pink petals of rhododendrons stuck in his hair. He was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.

And that was saying something, considering that, though it was wet and clung to him in all the right places, he was still wearing a shirt.

"Well yeah, but then I wouldn't have been able to crawl in through the window, and so what would've been the fun in that?"

"Yeah," I repeated, "Where's the fun?"

"It's a lot harder then it looks, by the way. Jacob said it'de be a piece of cake, but what does Jacob know?"

"Did you at least spare our gutter?"

"Um... not quite. But it was either that or the siding, and I figured that that the old gutter probably never got any use, anyway."

"Of course not," I said, laughing again. I shoved my blankets off of me and after making sure I was wearing all neccessary items of clothing, cautiously made my way to the door in the near-darkness, making sure not to humiliate mysef via faceplant in front of Seth.

"Wait right here."

He eyed me, eyebrows drawing down when he saw me headed for the door.

"Hey, where're you going?"

"I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

His expression changed. "Oh, jeez. Is this creepy for you? I bet it is. Weird guy hauling himself through your window. I'm not stalking you or anything, I promise, I just-"

"Right, you can tell that to the cops, Seth."

His eyes went wide and he made a move to stand up, before I met his eyes, covering my mouth with my hand to cover up the smile that was there.

"I'm kidding. I'll be right back."

He relaxed again, letting an easy smile break out onto his face, which in turn made me beam like an idiot as I quickly made my way into the bathroom and grabbed a towel. When I came back he was kneeling in front of my bookcase, ducking his head down to read the spines of the books sitting on the bottem shelf. He looked up quickly when I came in, smiled, then turned back to the books.

"I see you're a big fan of the classics?"

"Nope."

I was sure he was referring to the Jane Austen and Shakespeare books that I kept on the bottom shelf. True, I liked to take them out and read a couple passages from them time to time, but the truth was that they came with the house and I couldn't bear to let my mother shlup them off at Goodwill.

He raised his eyebrows at me when I offered no further explanation, but didn't question it. The rope in my chest gave one sharp tug, and I obeyed it, going to sit criss-cross behind, gently taking the petals and twigs out of his hair.

"So. Why, exactly, are you here?"

I could feel him stiffen almost imperceptibly, and before he could apologize for yet another thing that wasn't his fault, I added quietly, "Not that I don't want you hear. I was just wondering why you wanted to spend time in the middle of the night with... well, with me."

He craned his head around to look at me, and the tenderness in his eyes made it so I was unable to look away.

"Butterfly..." he started, and the nickname that I had almost forgotten made my heart leap into my throat.

"Didn't I tell you? You're my most favorite person in the world. I can't believe that I've never crawled through your window before."

"But-" I said, once I had found my voice from the sea of his eyes that I was swimming in.

"And I needed to make sure you were okay. I didn't want to leave things... to leave things like that."

He looked down, and I swallowed hard, for the first time remembering the happenings of earlier that night.

"You know that I'm not cheating on you or whatever your jackass of a brother said, right? You know that?"

I scowled at his insult towards Ian, and his face immedietely changed to abashed.

"Sorry. Not a jackass. Just... a liar. Because I'm not cheating on you, never have, never will."

I _knew _Seth hadn't been cheating, but him saying it out loud soothed over any last worries. "He's not a liar," I said, defensive when it came to Ian. "He just... didn't know. Leah told him that you had your girlfriend-" I had to take a moment to recover from the surprise of how easily that word slipped out,"And he didn't know that it was me. You weren't mean to Leah, were you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course you would be worried about Leah. You will be happy to know that Sam didn't even give me the chance to kill her because he put me on patrol."

"Oh. Good."

"Did you-" He paused for a moment, turning around so that he was completely facing me, his arms draped around his knees, wrists clasped in the middle. He looked down at the ground, contemplative, for a moment. I arranged all of the plant material he had dragged in with him in a little pile next to me.

"Did you really believe him? I mean, I don't know about you, but for me the thought of seeing anybody else is just... I mean... I can't even..."

I nodded, twirling a stick in my fingers. "I get what you mean. No, I don't think I ever really believed him."

Seth opened up his mouth to say something, but I surprised myself by interrupting somebody for the second time in my life.

"And it's a good thing, too, because if you had been I would've kicked your butt."

I froze, my face reddening.

Did I _really _just say that? Did that really just slip, completely uninvited, out of my mouth?

Seth burst out laughing.

"Shut up," I said, smiling despite myself. "You'll wake everybody up."

"I-" _gasp _"I'm sorry-" _gasp _"I don't-"_gasp_

I rolled my eyes and waited for his figure to stop shaking from laughter before I took the towel and swatted it with him, playfully tousling his wet hair.

"I'm sorry," he said again, shaking his head and running his hand over the carpet. "I don't know why that was so funny. It's just-"

"What, are you doubting my butt-kicking skills?" The words sounded so absurb coming out of my mouth that I couldn't help but laugh at myself, partly from that and partly because we both knew that my "butt-kicking skills" definitely left something to be desired.

"No, not at all," he said, fighting a smile. "In fact, if I ever do cheat on you, I give you my full permission to kick my butt. And," he added, face abruptly becoming dead serious, "I mean that."

"I'll keep that in mind. Now get off the carpet; you're ruining it."

"Oh. Sorry 'bout that," he said, pushing off of the ground with one arm.

"Stop doing that," I muttered, hearing him apologize for what seemed like the hundredth time, as I reached out to run a towel over his arm once he was standing.

"Doing what?"

I just shook my head, focusing on the towel.

I heard him sigh. "You know, I don't know if I've ever told you how _annoying _that is, when I'm dying over here trying to find out what you're thinking, and then you shake your head like that and don't answer me." He looked at me expectantly, but I just smiled and bit my lip.

"You're shirt is sopping," I said after a moment.

"It is?" He looked down at himself, like he hadn't noticed that the sheeting rain had made it so that there was now a small ocean pooling underneath him.

"Do you want me to..." His eyes met mine, his questioning. I took a deep breath. "I could put it in the dryer for ten minutes, if you wanted..."

Hiz gaze was still locked onto mine, and a slow smile spread over his face. Something fluttered in my stomach, spreading bubbles up my spine.

"You know what? That sounds _great_," he said, all too enthusiastically, taking a step back. "In fact, if it's convenient, I'll just strip it off right how..." He reached down for the ends of his sodden t-shirt and lifted it up and over his head, making an obvious show of stretching out his ample muscles for me. They glistened with the water.

I tucked my arms into my chest, unable to tear my gaze off of him, to make sure that they didn't do anything that would embarrass me. I reached up one hand to cover up my mouth because I could feel the biggest smile there. Not to mention the fact that I was giggling like an idiot.

I mean, I'm sorry, but here I was, three in the morning, and there was the most gorgeous guy possibly in possibly the whole entire world taking off his shirt in front of me. My girl-hormones were going into overdrive, clenching muscles and making me shudder with a tingly, hazy warmth that didn't exactly lead itself to PG images...

"I hope," he said, flinging his t-shirt over the window sill, then moving to grasp his hands together and stretch upwards, his palms laying flat against the ceiling. "That you don't mind my being half naked in your room."

"Oh," I said, almost unable to speak properly through the giggles. "You're half-naked? Funny, I hadn't even _noticed_."

And then he was smiling too, that crooked, sloppy smile that made me feel like I was floating, and he took a step forward so that he was standing right in front of me, taking my hand from my face.

I wanted to press myself against him, to let the water shining on his chest soak through my shirt, make it stick to my skin while his heat burned right through me...

The warmth and the water mixed together and made it so that I felt like I was swimming in his smell. I was taking as deep breaths as I could without it being weird, trying to get drunk off of it.

"Well," he said his voice rumbling into my chest and sending shivers that woke up every part of my body. "That's dissapointing. Here I was, under the impression that you enjoyed the sight of-"

"Oh, shut up," I said, turning my head away from him, determined to gain some of my composure back. He laughed, and let go off me, leaving me feeling cold and exposed.

"Fine," he said a second later, somehow having gone from standing in front of me to being sprawled out on my bed with his arms jokingly crossed in front of his chest.

"Have it your way. I'll just wait right here, if you ever feel like joining me..."

"Fine," I mimicked, the severity that I tried to get in my voice completely undermined by my smile. I mirrored his image, crossing my arms and turning away, playfully sticking my nose in the air, acting as if the very sight of him didn't make my knees want to just have me collapse in a pile at his feet.

I could hear him chuckle, and then he was back at my side, pulling the hair off of the back of my hot neck.

"You're very good at playing hard to get, you know that?" His breath, right at my ear, sent flashes of heat playing across my cheeks.

"I am?" I tried to get it to sound noncholant, but it came out breathy.

"Oh, absolutely. In fact, I don't think I can resist..."

I giggled, turning my face away, all of a sudden remembering the insecurities that had gone through my mind earlier.

"S-Seth?"

This time the stutter was because of his closeness, not because of my awkwardness. It was a nice change of pace.

"Mmm?" His face was buried in my hair, arms having made there way so that they were wrapped around my waist.

"Am I a horrible kisser?"

To my surprise he just laughed, clasping his hands and pulling me closer.

"You're joking, right?"

"Well, no," I said, all of a sudden feeling silly. Why had I even brought it up?

All of a sudden his hands were on my hips, spinning me around so that I was facing him. His eyes smoldered, burning into mine. He was all I could see.

"Bailey. Be serious."

"I-"

"Of course," he said, almost to himself, breaking off to look skyward. "Of course you, only you, would think that." He looked back down at me, this time ducking down far enough that our foreheads almost touched, and I could feel his breath brush across my lips. I could practically already taste him, that sweet taste that was all honey and... and... _Seth._

"I can honestly say," he started, "That that kiss was the best thing I have ever experienced. In my life. And-" he saw me opening up my mouth, and cut me off before I could say anything. "I know you'll argue about that, but the only thing I can say is... it's like.. when I kissed you, the world cracked open. You don't say a lot, and I don't think I could survive if I never found out what you were thinking, but your kiss... it told me more then I think words ever could."

I wasn't breathing anymore. His voice was quiet, but it was all I could hear. His arms around my wait, me pressing into him, it was all I could feel.

"Not to mention," he added, "That it _felt_ amazing, if that's what you're talking about."

"Seth..." I whispered, wishing there was somethign I could say to make him feel the way I was feeling right now.

Instead, I smiled the widest smile I think my face could hold, impossibly emarrassed but at the same time overjoyed by his comment. I ducked my face again, and he let out a little sigh, but then laughed again.

"Come here, butterfly," he whispered, and I smiled to the ground.

And then his lips were on my face, trailing little petal kisses down from my hairline.

He stopped a millimeter above my lips. At that point, I was clay in his hands. A fire was burning through my blood and through every last insecurity I had about him. I would have done anything, and when he stopped, I waited, frozen and breathless.

"Bailey?"

He waited for a few breaths, loud in the silent, dark room.

"I love you. You know that, don't you?"

And then I couldn't help myself anymore, I titled my face up so that our lips met, and he tasted too good, sweeter then the sun, even in Washington...

It was different then last time.

This time it was small, sugary kisses, tantalizing and soft as feathers. The rest of me was pressed against him so solidly that it felt like we were one being, but my lips just barely brushed over his, sending fizzy little tingles to light up as champagne in my blood.

His fingers were gentle as they trailed down my cheek, down my neck, pressing against the side of my body. His fingers rubbed the exposed spot of skin where my shirt met my pajama shorts, and then slowly slid upwards, sneaking underneath the soft fabric and sending the pulsing lower in my body. I ran my hands slowly up his chest, glding over the water that was still there and staining my shirt, coming to rest at his neck.

I allowed myself one more kiss, his eyelashes brushing against my cheek, then slowly drew back so I could look into his eyes again.

"Seth. We- I- can't do this. You're half naked and I'm..."

I hoped he couldn't see my blush in the darkness, but the truth was that I didn't want to do something I would regret.

Well, not that I would regret it, if it was with Seth. But I was a virgin, and was determined to be one until marriage, and if his hands continued in the direction they were going then that philosophy might as well have just been kicked out the window.

He groaned softly, his eyes closing, but moved his hands so that they were in the safer area of my arms. His thumbs rubbed circles in my palms.

He dropped his head, giving me one last kiss on the shoulder, before stepping back.

"Sorry," I muttered.

He laughed quietly.

"Don't apologize, Bailey. But don't keep me hanging, either."

"Keep you... hanging? What?"

I looked up at him, confused, his eyes twinkled playfully into mine, but he didn't answer, instead scooping me up like he had with the motorcycle, and depositing me on the bed.

When he set me down I grabbed on pitifully to his hands, like a child. "No!" It came out desperately, and I closed my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. " I mean, no. Please don't go. Please..."

"I'm not going anywhere."

I allowed myself a deep breath and let my hands loosten their grasp. He picked the towel up off the ground and dried up any of the remaining water on him, then came over to the bed.

Normally I would've been a mortified, stuttering idiot to have a boy in the same bed as me, but Seth's confidence left no room for that.

He leaned against the headboard, way too big for my tiny bed, but at the same time looking like he just _fit _there. I pushed myself up so I could be closer to him, and he snaked an arm underneath my back and then lifted me up so that I could lay my head against his chest.

It felt perfect.

I felt safe. Warm. I belonged.

I curled up against him and he wrapped me up in his arms. Pretty soon the rhythm of his breaths had lulled me just to the edge of sleep.

Problem #1: Solved.

Problem #2:

...

That was the first time I had thought about it that night, but, surprisingly, it didn't automatically send me into a cold sweat.

In fact, with Seth's arms wrapped around me, the whole step-dad situation didn't seem like that big of a deal anymore.

All the same, the lingering fear of his face popping up outside my window or something still made my heart beat faster then it should have.

"Seth?" I murmered, my voice muffled by sleep.

"Mmm?"

"What would you do..." I trailed off for a second, interrupted by a yawn. "What would you do if somebody came in here... and-and tried to hurt me?"

"I would kill them."

He said it so nonchalantly, so casually, it was like he was talking about the weather.

"No," I said, pouting into his chest. "No- no killing."

"Oh, right," he said, laughing quietly. He didn't sound sleepy at all. I could feel his eyes on me, had been feeling them the past ten minutes as he stared at me while I drifted off to sleep.

"I should've known you wouldn't like that," he said softly. "In that case... I would throw them out the window."

I nodded, happier at that thought then at killing anybody. My eyelids felt like they had lead weigts attached to them, my brain filled with the hazy cloud of sleep...

"But I would do it quietly. Make sure I didn't wake you up."

Even through the cloud of sleep, I smiled at that. Suddenly, my brain clicked about what he had said when I "left him hanging."

I had to find somewhere in me the will to talk, which was far surpassed by my brain wanting to drift into unconsiousness, but when I finally found it I tilted my head up so I could look at him.

"Seth?"

"Yes?"

"I love you..."

"I love you too, butterfly. More then anything."

And with that, I drifted off to sleep.


	23. Broken Eggs and Broken Mothers

Bleak, early morning light woke me up the next morning. It was accompanied by the call of birds through my open window, but no raindrops. No storms today.

_I was happy._

That was the first thought that ran through my brain. Eyes still closed, I buried myself deeper into the comforter, smiling absently. Everything seemed brighter from behind my eyelids, the air crisper, the blankets warmer…

All the same, I couldn't help but feel like something was missing.

_"I love you too, butterfly. More than anything."_

Oh. I remembered now.

My hands groped the sheets half-heartedly, searching for the burning skin that I already knew wouldn't be there.

It was too bad. This morning was close to perfect- all I needed was a certain handsome, happy werewolf, who was currently MIA from where he should've been. Which was in my bed.

Sorry, that sounded dirty.

Correction: Which was with me.

I sat up, stretching my arms as high as they could. I squinted into the light coming in through my window. It seemed almost rough to my eyes, which were accustomed to grey, smoky skies.

Seth had said he loved me. Not in an off-hand way, either. He said that _he_ (Seth. Very kind. Great smile. Gorgeous. Flawless. Lust-inducing muscles.) loved _me _(Bailey. Introverted. Bashful. Blundering. Socially inept).

Not to mention, he had come to my house—in the pouring rain, past midnight— and almost killed himself climbing in through my window. If that isn't devotion, what is?

And, let's be honest: if it was any other guy, I probably would have put him on a restraining order. But it wasn't any guy.

It was _Seth_.

Seth Clearwater. SethClearwater. Seth Clearwater, marry me.

And just to prove how gentlemanly and respectful he was, I just wanted to point out that he had been shirtless and wet and it was dark and God knows that I wasn't exactly thinking straight at the time, and he didn't take advantage of me, did he?

No. Because he was Seth, and he was perfect.

Speaking of which…

I looked around me, to the open window, to the blankets that had been pulled up snuggly around me. My hand brushed against something crinkly and my fingers grasped around it, already guessing what it was.

_Butterfly,_

_Sorry I'm not there. I didn't want you to get in trouble with your parents. You were so cute sleeping, I couldn't wake you up._

I covered my face with my hand, even if there was no one there to see my silly smile.

_I think it's about time I took you on a __real__ date… I'll pick you up at six? _

_With love,_

_Your oversized puppy_

"With love." How many guys do you know have the balls to say "with love?" Not many. It was the sweetest thing I had ever witnessed, and I've watched The Princess Bride.

The note was written on a crisply, if not unevenly, folded piece of paper. The holes on the side were ripped through, like he had pulled it out of a… a notebook. An unused one of mine, lying open next to the bed.

I sighed and collapsed back onto the bed in typical movie-fashion, not even having been awake for a full five minutes and already missing him.

The rope lassoed around my chest had dissolved when I kissed him. It frayed with each little peck, eventually unraveling and disappearing altogether.

It was no longer a sharp, poignant _need _to be with him, tugging me towards him like a sailboat on a leash.

Instead, it felt like when the rope disappeared, it left behind… a hole. A big, Seth-shaped hole. It wasn't painful, but it filled up with the cloudy ache of the memory of him.

_Geez. Get yourself together, Bailey. _

No need to go missing him. I would be seeing him later today, wouldn't I? Yes. At six.

…_about time I took you on a __real__ date…_

I read that over three times, wondering what the definition of a "real date" was. It sounded nerve-wracking. But Seth would be there. That was part of a date, right? So it would be okay.

Crap. I had no idea what I was supposed to wear.

Deciding to save that decision for later in the day, I peeled the blankets off and slid out of bed. My feet hit what was probably my most prized possession, a pink shag carpet that cost me thirty dollars at a garage sale. The rest of my room wasn't anything exciting. A little on the small side, containing a dresser, book shelf, and bed. My clothes were strewn across the floor, belts hanging off of the dresser knobs.

Somehow it seemed a whole heck of a lot better now that it had seen the presence of greatness, in the form of you-guess-who.

I briefly peeked out the open window, which faced onto our neighbor's driveway. It was a good twenty feet off the ground. The gutter was twisted, pried from the nails attaching it at the top. Even so, it ended ten feet from my window… had he jumped?

I smiled a little at the thought, imagining Seth catapulting himself from the gutter or something. I would ask him about it tonight, I decided, shutting the window.

* * *

"Hey, Bail."

Ian was flopped down in our living room, legs dangling over the edge of the tan couch that sat there. I yawned, leaning against the doorway. This was rare. Usually he would only come back from work around lunchtime.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I said, feeling a little spike of panic that I fought down. Of course Ian wouldn't know about my midnight visitor. Right?

"You sure? I heard, like, something banging around in your room last night."

Oh. Maybe not. I turned my face into my shoulder, hiding a blush.

"Oh, well-"

"You were alone, right?"

"...Um. Yes."

He raised his eyebrows at me in a "yeah, sure..." kind of look, but then shrugged and changed the subject. One of the reasons why I love Ian.

"So, I was thinking... I was gonna ask mom about... the thing."

"What thing?"

"The step-dad thing. "

I treid to swallow, but it got stuck in my throat. Shoot. I had briefly forgotten all about that. "You- you're gonna ask her... what about it?"

"I dunno," he said, shrugging again. "She was the one who let him come here. I know she's visiting him-"

"She is? When?"

"What do you think, Bail? She works at a _quilting _store. I think her lunch break is two hours or something ridiculous like that."

"...Oh." I felt vaguely sick.

"So, yeah, she's seeing him, and I don't know if she knows that I'm... visiting him. I think she does. He probably told her. But-"

"Wait, Ian," I said, holding up my hand. He had explained to me the night before about his infamous phone call during school hours a couple weeks earlier. He said that my step-dad had showed up, _at his school_, claiming that he needed to see him. He freaked out, called me, decided I would go into cardiac arrest or something, and told me to forget about it. He went with him back to his appartment. They talked. He said that he had changed.

Bullshit.

"I still don't understand why you're willingly... visiting him. I mean, even if he has _changed_ or whatever he says..." I was having trouble forming the words for my question. What I really wanted to ask was: How can you even _stand _being around him? How can you be reminded of the horrible things that he did to you? All_ I_ wanted to do was to forget about him. Anything and everything to do with him. To erase that little (well, big) blip in my childhood, pretend that it never happened.

But somehow I didn't think that saying that would go over well with Ian.

"I mean, what do you do? Like, talk together? Heart-to-hearts? I just don't get it, Ian."

He smiled vaguely, not facing me.

"No. It's not like that. It's... normal, Bail. It's like what's supposed to happen if you're parents are divorced or something. We watch sports at his appartment. Eat pizza."

Great. Sounds like my idea of fun: watching spanish soccer and getting fat.

"Did he_ ask_ you to... spend time with him? Or is that just you're idea of fun?"

"No, My idea of fun is hanging out with my kid sister. Or working in a gas station."

"Be serious, Ian."

"Yes, he asked me to do it."

"What would happen if you didn't?"

"I already tried that. He broke a window."

I gasped, eyes widening, staring at him for a second. "_What_?"

"He broke a window. I forgot to come over last Friday, and when I came the next day, the window was... broken. And he was all bloody. And angry. I'm glad you weren't there, because it was totally gross, with the glass and the-"

"Ian!" I gasped, voice coming out strangled. There was an odd squeezing in my chest, like my heart was expanding, too big to fit into the fragile cage of ribs. "How- how can- you never-"

"Whoa, whoa, cool it, Bail. He didn't hurt _me _or anything, just-"

"Can't you see this, Ian? Can't you see what's going on? He hasn't changed!" My voice was growing higher, becoming shriller with desperation. That was just like him. Break a window when he got angry. What would it be next time? A wall? Ian?

Oh God, he was going to breka Ian.

"He- he's gonna hurt you, Ian! Can't you see that? Can't you-"

"Bailey! Calm down. I can take care of myself."

"No! No you can't! I-"

"Oh, right, like you're gonna use your legendary physical strength to protect me," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. I was still sputtering, imaging his bloody fist connecting with Ian's face. Him being knocked backwards, slamming against the door, red liquid spurting out in gushes from his nose... I was horrified to say that the image was not unfamiliar to me.

"He's going to hurt you."

"No, B-"

"Promise you won't go over there anymore," I said, my voice coming out in a whisper. Not the authoritative tone I was looking for, but it seemed to work. Ian looked at me for a second, his face pained, before turning away. He sighed.

"Whatever, Bailey."

He didn't promise.

Before I could freak out at him more, he changed the subject.

"So, as I was saying before you went off on this tangent, I was going to ask mom about the whole thing."

I looked at the ground, not answering.

"'Cause, like I said, I'm pretty sure she knows that I'm... seeing him. Okay, that sounded wrong, like I'm _dating _or som-"

"Why?" I asked, interrupting him. "Are you goign to try to get an explanation out of her? Because you know that won't work."

"Yeah, I know," he said, sitting up on the couch and pressing his hands together. He was still in his pajamas, boxers and a half-unbottoned plaid shirt. He gave me a half-smile, one side of his mouth pulling up. "I just thought it'de be... interesting, you know?"

I _did_ know. I understood exactly what he was stalking about.

Sometimes, talking to my mother reminded me of... what was it called? It was a computer site Ian had once shown me. Cleverbot, or something. You could type in anything into the search box, and the site would create a computer generated response for you. Stupid, right? But all the same, he said that kids in his grade had spent recesses on end typing things in the word box, everything from "Let's have sex!" to "I hate you," or "I want to kill myself, what should I do?"

You could type in anything. It would answer anything. I had tried it out, and to my surprise, it was oddly addictive. It was like talking to a normal person, except that no matter what you said, it would never get mad at you or be embarrased or get you in trouble.

Not that my mother wouldn't get angry at us.

But, it was the same idea.

Sometimes when I talked to her, I had this odd fascination to see what she would say. She was so blank some of the time, it was like talking to tha computer screen. I would wonder what she would say, trying to get a glimpse of what was going on behind the blank face. And even if she did get angry, it was never permanent. Ten minutes later, all was forgiven. Or forgotten. Back to the blank slate.

All the same, I didn't think it was worth it.

"Ian... I don't know if that's a good idea..."

At that exact moment, my mom came down the steps. She was dressed in jeans. She wore them yesterday. I wonder if she slept in them.

"Good morning, Bailey. Ian."

Neither of us responded. She didn't take note, looking left and right, then going into the kitchen. She opened up the refrigerator, then got out one of the five cartons of eggs in our refrigerator. Even the sight of them made me want to puke.

"So, mom," Ian said, standing up and crossing the room to lean on the counter across from her. She looked up, smiled, looked back down, and ducked below the counter to get out a pan. The harsh clanging of metal on metal soon filled the kitchen.

"You remember dad, right?" Ian asked above the banging. Abrputly, it went completely quiet. Our eyes met, both of our eyebrows raised.

"Wyatt, I mean. Wyatt Conrad." I winced at the name coming from Ian's mouth.

There was no movement from beneath the counter.

"You remember him, right? He was with us when we lived in Iowa..." _He was the one who you saw beating your son..._

"Mom, are you listening?"

No movement.

"Okay, well, anyways, I'm sure you know who I'm talking about. And I'm sure you know that he's... here. Like, in Forks."

Complete quiet.

"Any thoughts on the matter, mother?" Ian said, his voice turning around to have an edge, becoming half-mocking. We weren't going to get anything out of her today.

I peered around the counter, trying to see what she was doing down there.

She was sitting on the ground, legs splayed underneath her like they had abruptly collapsed. Palms pressed against the floor, head bowed, shoulder blades jutting out.

I stared at her for a full minute while she styaed completely still. I jumped when she finally moved, her movements so abrupt that it startled me. She stood up, banging into the cabinet door with her leg, pans tumbling out in a tin cacouphony to lie in a pile at her feet.

"I don't know who you're talking about," she said, getting a used cup from out of the sink.

"Yes, you do," Ian said slowly.

"I don't know who you're talking about." She put an egg in the cug, then took out a fork and jabbed it into the cup several times, so that it was a soapy, eggy, shelly mess.

"Wyatt Conrad," Ian repeated, leaning onto the counter, hands pressed downwards. He sounded like he was talking to a child. I didn't blame him. That was sometimes how it felt- like you were talking to a two year old, only half of your words being processed.

"I don't know who you're talking about. Wy isn't here."

Wy. She had a nickname for him. She turned around and turned on the stove, the fire quickly flaring to life. She didn't put a pan on top, just left it burning.

"Yes, he is."

"No he's not. He's gone. Gone, gone."

"Mom, I've seen-"

"Gone, gone, gone."

"I've _seen _you go into his apartment." Ian's voice was becoming more strained. I wanted to interrupt him, to tell him to just let it go, but it felt like if I said anything it would somehow snap the balance that they were both standing on at the moment.

"No, no you haven't. I haven't. He hasn't."

"You're lying."

She beat the soupy eggshell/egg mixture violently with the fork, some of it slopping over the side of the cup.

"Liar," she repeated quietly, almost to herself. My toes curled against the floor. Stop now, Ian. She's going to break...

"I've seen you. I've seen you with him. Don't tell me that you don't know he's here, mom. Why did you let him come back?"

"He's not back. He's gone. He's _gone_!"

"Dammit, mom. Can't you just give a straight answer? For one moment of you're life, can you just-"

"_He's gone!_"

My mothers voice startled us both. Ian's grip on the counter became ridged, fingers like claws. Her voice was desperate. Too loud. Like a barely suppressed shriek. It writhed around in my ears even after she said it, traveling down my throat and making bile rise in it's place.

Both of us stayed competely frozen, knowing we had gone too far, waiting to see what would happen.

I expected her to scream. Maybe pour the eggs directly onto the open stove fire, forgetting there wasn't a pan there, then smile at us like nothing had happened.

I did not expect her to start crying.

Her shoulders hunched forward and her face collapsed and scrunched up. A sob seemed to rip it's way up from her chest.

Her arms abruptly went limp, sliding of of the counter, taking the cup with it. We both flinched a second before it hit the ground, shattering into hundreds of pieces. The gooey yellow splattered all over the white kitchen floor.

My mother looked down at it, then looked back up, her face composing itself. She wiped her nose, smearing the egg over her face in a shiny yellow streak.

"Eggs are ready, kids. I'm going to work."

And then she calmy walked out of the room, trailing yellow egg footprints behind her.

...

"Don't forget your briefcase," I whispered to her back. It was a Monday.

A moment later, I closed my eyes, determined not to let tears slip out. Ian came over to stand next to me, and for a couple seconds he let me lean my head against his shoulder. It was a display of comfort I think he needed as much as I did.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Not your fault," I whispered back.

And then we quietly broke apart, me getting a paper towel, him starting to pick up the shards of glass.

Together we cleaned up the mess. He left for work after that, half heartedly joking that he would pick me up a Honey Bun. I laughed, even though it wasn't that funny.

When my mom went through the door to leave for work, she smiled blankly at me like nothing had ever happened. The egg was still on her face. A surge of pity went through me. I wet a cloth and wiped it off for her like she was a child, then handed her her briefcase.

She walked away.

I reread Seth's note fifteen times. Seeing his messy handwriting somehow made things seem better. The ache for him in my chest grew more pronounced.

I would see him tonight. Six o' clock. Only seven hours away. I would be okay.

I went up to my room, determined to forget about eggs and mothers, and find something pretty to wear.

**OK, so tell me what you thought of that... I don't really know what I'm going ot do for their date. I know what they're going to talk about and stuff, but I don't know if they should go to a restaurant, or have a picnic on the beach, or... if you guys were Seth, what would you do?**

**Also, I've decided that maybe it's time for me to get a beta for this story. It would just be nice, because I usually have to reread it four or five times to get out most of the typos, and by that time I'm doubting how good the chapter is (too corny? too boring?) so it might be nice to have a second opinion before I post. **

**Since all of you reviewers are so amazing, I would like it to be one of you guys. Drop me a PM if you're interested. My only rule is that you would have to be able to read and edit it pretty promptly, because I don't like to keep people waiting between chapters! Also, if no one volunteers then that's fine, and obviously if I get more then one offer I'll have to choose somebody... But I just think it might help the quality of the story. **

**All righty, expect the next chapter soon! :)**


	24. I'll Help, He Said Innocently

Why, why,_why _couldn't Seth have been more specific?

Of course, goodness knows I didn't have much to choose from. Shopping trips with my mother fluctuated between her being completely detached from the whole process, or throwing piles of clothes over the dressing room door that looked like they had come from the maternity unit.

But, still. Was I supposed to wear dressy? In that case, restaurant-dressy, or concert-dressy? Casual? Dinner at his parent's house casual? Or somewhere in between? Maybe a sundress. Except, oops, I don't own a sundress.

And what about everything else— was I supposed to wear makeup? I had problems applying eyeliner without looking like a raccoon-meets-hooker. And, oh God, what about shoes?

_Aaaagh!_

In the midst of a "when the going gets tough, the tough get going," situation, I was sitting in front of our computer eating peanut butter and using Google as the problem-solving girl friend I never had. The blogs seemed to unanimously decide that something white and semi-formal was the way to go. Well, thanks a bushel, but that's not going to work. A) I don't wear anything white, lest we have a bad situation on our hands that includes rain and colored unmentionables, and B) It is a proven fact that the term "semi-formal" has no real meaning and was made only to confuse fashionably challenged people such as myself.

I was once again in my bedroom, this time debating the pros and cons of a dark pair of jeans, and a slightly darker pair of jeans. Wasn't dark supposed to slim? Or did that only work with black? But didn't light bring the eyes-

_DING-DONG_

Our outrageously loud doorbell sounded enthusiastically, alerting people in Australia that we had a visitor.

"Crap."

I gave a long look at the jeans, laid out over my open dresser drawers, then sighed and headed for the front door.

The front room was flooded with light, meaning that the curtains were open. Dang. That meant I couldn't employ my usual means of opening the door the strangers, which was always proceeded by a game of curtain peek-a-boo.

I shuffled nervously in the hallway. Was it worth it? It was most likely a salesperson. Or the mailman. Or it could be some guy who was planning on breaking in and raping me and then smothering me and throwing my dead body into the forest-

"Stop freaking out about opening the door, Bailey. It's me."

Seth's voice reached me, muffled through the door. I rushed to swing open the door.

He was standing on the porch, leaning in towards the door with an expression I couldn't quite place. Lips pressed together, eyebrows up…nervous? Huh. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his cargo shorts, and was wearing a soft-looking red t-shirt. His hair had that sticky-uppie thing going that boys got when right after they came out of the shower.

He looked ridiculously cute.

"Heya," he said brightly.

"Hey. Sorry, I thought you were…"

"A serial killer?" He smiled at me warmly, amusement flashing in his eyes.

"Well, yeah," I said, looking down, embarrassed. He laughed, reaching out with one hand to nudge my chin back up.

"Don't worry, I would've killed you a while ago."

I was going to try to respond with some kind of witty comment, but instead I made the mistake of looking into his face, getting caught there.

Seth's smile…it was different. Something I had never seen before. It was the kind that would make strangers on the street beam back. It crinkled his eyes and showed white teeth and seemed to fill his whole body.

It was somewhere in the process of the corners of his lips lifting up and hooking their way around my heart that I remembered something…

Wait, it was SETH? Why was _he _here? I tried to peer discreetly behind me at a clock behind me. Only 5:15.

"Y-you're early."

"Yeah. Sorry. I couldn't wait 'till six. Can I-" He gestured through the door, asking if he could come in.

"Oh! Yeah, yeah, sorry, you can come in…" I stumbled into the wall in my rush to move out of the doorway for him. I was sure my face was bright red, but he only chuckled lightly and snagged me by the waist before I could make a further idiot out of myself.

"So, I trust you didn't get busted or anything? You can bet I heard it from Sam about that. Kind of hypocritical because Jake is practically stalking this Bella girl."

"No, no, it was fine… Who's Bella?"

"Just a girl. She's with the Edward, the vamp… long story. Love triangle typa' thing," he said, bringing me over to the couch.

"With a _vampire_?"

"And a werewolf. Yeah, it's messed up. I try to stay out of it."

I laughed a little, just thinking about the whole thing.

"That's…well, that's interesting. And, no, I didn't get in trouble. You can come into my bedroom any time." I immediately realized how weird that sounded, and my eyes went wide with embarrassment. "I mean-that's not what I- I didn't-"

Seth just turned to put his face into my hair, laughing. "I think I might have to take you up on that offer."

"So," I started quickly, trying to change the subject matter. "Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

"Nope. But you'll like it."

"This isn't one of those blind-restaurants, is it?" The idea randomly popped into my head, and I voiced it without thinking.

"Blind-restaurant? Do I want to know what that means?"

"Yeah, it's where they don't have any lights, and you, like, eat in the dark…"

He lifted his head to look at me, corners of his mouth fighting not to lift.

"I mean, the waiters have night vision goggles…"I defended futilely.

_Shouldn't have said anything, Bailey._

"But wouldn't that be really weird?"

"That's the point. It's a couples bonding experience. Never mind, forget I said any-"

"But doesn't that mean the waiter could be listening in on your conversation without you knowing?"

It was silent for a moment while I contemplated this. It was true.

"Well, yeah, but- okay, the point is-"

"No, Bailey, I am not taking you to a blind-restaurant. I have more class then that. Speaking of which, are you ready to go?"

Panic flitted across my face. "No! I mean, no. Not at all."

"Why not?" He seemed genuinely confused, as if he hadn't noticed I was wearing rolled-up sweats and a shirt that I was pretty sure was Ian's when he was ten.

"Because-because-I'm a _girl_. I need to…" I gestured vaguely at myself. "You know. Get ready."

He looked down at me for the first time, and I winced internally.

Lucky for me, his face didn't hold as much revulsion as I had expected. "Why? You're fine. Let's go."

I stared at him. Men. So ignorant.

"I can't- I mean… I can't go anywhere like _this_, Seth."

"Sure you can."

"I'm wearing sweatpants."

"I can see that I'm not going to win this argument."

"No, you're not, so if you could just sit tight for five minutes while I-"

"No way," he said, and the mischief lighting up his tone made me raise my eyebrows. He smiled back impishly.

"I'll help."

* * *

Five minutes later, Seth was pawing through my dresser drawer. In my bedroom. Not that he hadn't already been in here, but it had been _dark_. And, you know, for the most part we were...otherwise occupied.

"What about this?"

I turned around from where I was trying to quietly kick all of the bras on the floor under my bed.

"Huh?"

"It's okay, Bailey. I have a sister. I have to deal with bras on the ground all of the time." Before I could die of the embarrassment that he seemed immune to, he held up a black, ruffled skirt that I had worn at middle school graduation. "Why don't you wear this?"

"Because..." I came over to stand by him, arms crossed, calculating the skirt. It wasn't _that _bad. Even if it was from the sale section at Target. But then again...

"It's black."

"Well now, let's not be racist."

I rolled my eyes. "You can't wear black in the summertime. Unless you're going to a funeral."

"I wear black all the time."

"You're a boy."

"Right. Okay, let's see what else we have here..."

I watched him dig some more through the drawer, my eyes drifting to how the lines of muscle on his arms stretched out beneath-

"This?"

My eyes snapped back to the item of clothing in his hands. This time it was a shirt, dark green and a basic crew neck, once again from my middle school years. I shook my head. He looked at it confusedly, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle.

"Why not? I like it. It's like... leaves. In a good way. Green looks good on you."

I shook my head again, reaching out to finger the bottom hem. "No, it's too..." I waved my hand at it in a general way, trying to convey what I meant. It was one of those shirts that looked hopeful when you saw it, but just wouldn't look right, even when combined with your best pair of corduroys.

Seth looked more confused than ever, and I laughed. Hey, at least he was trying. I should probably just pull on a pair of jeans and call it quits.

"Hey, you know what? It's fine. I'll just throw on a pair of jeans or something."

"No, no," he said, still caught up on the green shirt. "I totally agree. It's _way _too-" he sarcastically mimicked the gesture I had made before, and I laughed again, then took his hand from where it was flopping around in the air. "Hey, it's fine. You don't need to do this."

"Don't give up on me now, I've almost got- hey! Look at this! Yeah, wear this." Hm. Just like him to find the only piece of _white _clothing I owned.

It was another skirt, high-waisted and lacy at the bottom.

I stared at it for a moment, trying to find some kind of flaw with it so that I could have an excuse to slip into jeans. "Well..."

"It... suits you."

I smiled a little, looking at the skirt. "Why?"

"I don't know, it's all... Pretty," he said brightly, ruffling the bottom with his fingers. "And lacy and stuff. Here, put it on." He tossed the skirt to me, and I held it out in front of me.

"Can you please tell me where we're going? Because I don't know if a skirt would be the best idea, if it's..."

"A blind-restaurant?"

I giggled. "Yeah."

"We already established that that was not on our to-do list. Now," He put his hand over his eyes in an exaggerated movement. "I'm waiting."

I rolled my eyes a little at his sing-song voice. Seth thought the skirt was nice. He said it suited me... My eyes darted back and forth between it and his back, which he had turned graciously to me. I quickly pulled off the sweatpants, and slipped on the skirt. There was an awkward moment where my leg got kind of caught up in the leg of the pants and I was worried I would fall to the ground in my underwear, but I caught myself.

Mission accomplished.

"All right..." I said uncertainly, looking down at myself. Seth turned back around and crossed his arms, a contemplative look on his face

"Hmm... Maybe white isn't your color..."

My expression turned horrified. I wanted to curl in on myself and die, and-

"Just kidding." He beamed at me, snagging me with both hands on my hips to position me in front of the mirror. He left them there, and his head came down to rest on my shoulder. The red t-shirt _was _soft. I could feel his burning skin through it, and I melted into him. "You look amazing."

And I did look... not bad. Maybe not amazing, but the skirt was spring looking and swingy and made me want to spin in circles like a top. Because the shirt was too small, it had a tight-ish cropped affect, which went with the high-waisted skirt.

Who knew male youth-medium could be so flattering.

I smiled, and Seth nuzzled my neck, trailing kisses up the skin. I giggled and playfully swatted him and he laughed, before planting a kiss on my cheek.

"You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

"Oh, well, I don't-"

"And you can argue about that as much as you want, but I say that we get a move on. _Now _are you ready?"

I smiled, looking down, his compliment still fizzing in my brain. I nodded.

"Yes! Come on, butterfly. You're gonna love it."

He took my hand like an excited child and led me out the room, my skirt swinging behind me.

**One word: FLUFFFFFFFFFFFF  
Oh well. For those who are probably like, lady, hurry it up, this story is taking for-**_**ev**_**er, here's a clue-in, then I'll shut up for a while.**

**We're between half-ish and three-fourths-ish finished. Just doing a little relationship progression before Big Problem #1 comes in (even made-to-match couples fight…), which leads to Big Problem #2 (which has to do with Ian and Leah, and makes me kinda sad to think about) which subsequently leads to THE CLIMAX! Buh buh buh buuuhh…**

**I'll be updating much more often, sorry about slacking off for a couple days. **


	25. My Old Nemesis, The Path In The Woods

We rode on the motorcycle again.

I was very proud of myself. I managed to keep my eyes open under the helmet visor for the majority of the dizzying ride. The blurred forest swallowed up our path behind us, and we were going fast enough that if I stared straight ahead at the road it didn't even look like it was moving.

It didn't hurt that I was once again nestled into Seth's cave-like chest. His legs pressed on the outside of my thighs, scorching even through the fabric, keeping the skirt securely in place.

I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it just a little.

Seth soon turned off of one of La Push's deserted streets, his arm bracing against me on the turning side, and onto a dirt driveway. We rode in one of the ruts made from a car tire, bouncing up and down rhythmically with the terrain. I could smell the ocean in the wind rushing past us.

After a short while the driveway dead-ended at a house, and Seth swung the motorcycle around and turned off the engine. I clambered off, determined to do it myself this time, and rearranged my skirt. He got off in a considerably more graceful manner and put the kickstand down.

"This is your house?"

"Yup."

"It's pretty."

"Does it have _personality_?"

"Loads. Are we staying?"

"Nope." He turned to make a face at me. "Geez, no. You think I'm that bad? Want to come for a date- we can eat lunch with my mom!"

I shrugged. "I wouldn't mind."

He winded a piece of my hair back into my ponytail. "I'm just grabbing some things. You'll be okay our here? I'll be right back."

I rolled my eyes in assent, and he turned to jog towards the house, taking the steps up to the porch in one bound.

I watched his back disappear through the door, and then took in the house. It was made of wood, painted a deep barn-red, with black shingles. It was small, like Emily's, but it was obvious that somebody tried to keep it looking nice. A seasonal wreath hung on the door, and potted plants with happy metal frogs on stakes hung from the porch roof. The grass was neatly cut and lead up to a cluster of wildflowers surrounding a rainbow-painted mailbox. Some of the shingles had fallen off and were in a neat stack next to the open doors of a small shed along with a handful of fishing poles.

I door opened again and Sue Clearwater's future came out of the house. She was wearing slippers and an apron over jeans.

"Bailey! It is Bailey, right?" She continues on without waiting for an answer. "Of course it is! It's not like Seth hasn't been talking about you non-stop for the past month!"

Seth appeared behind her, a canvas bag in one hand, looking embarrassed. "Uh, mom, maybe-"

"I can't believe I've never met you before! Of course, that's Seth's fault. How come you've never brought her before?" She pulled me into an exuberant hug, and I decided I liked her. Her face was shockingly familiar to Leah's, the same severe beauty, except on Sue's face, laugh lines and soft wrinkles around her eyes softened the sharp angles and features. Her raven-black hair was pulled into a messy bun, and I couldn't help but notice that she had the same dark eyes as Seth.

"Um, well, we haven't exactly had loads of time."

"Psh! Time schmime. Ask Sam to give you some of it off to visit your poor mother." She took my by the shoulders and turned me around exuberantly, taking in my appearance. I was completely all right with it, because it felt nothing like what Paul had done and it also saved me form having to say anything.

Aren't you just the cutest little thing! Isn't she cute, Seth? You should've seen him before he came to pick you up," she mock-whispered to me. "He was so nervous!"

Seth? Nervous? For _me_? Awwww...

"Can you believe it? My son, on a date! It seems like just yesterday he was a snotty-nosed little kid who was scared of Cookie Monster-"

"Alllll-righty!" Seth interrupted, taking me by the hand. "Been great talking to you, mom. We're going to leave now."

"All right! Have fun, you two! Visit soon, Bailey." She waved enthusiastically to me as Seth lead me quickly around the back of the house, and I returned the gesture, laughing.

I kept pace with Seth, following him as he skirted the edge of the forest. "Sorry about that," he muttered, leaning in to me. "I couldn't rein her in."

I laughed. "Don't be sorry. She's your mom, that' what she's supposed to-" I was interrupted when Seth's hand reached out and caught hold of my ponytail, making me swing around abruptly. "Hey! What was-"

"Turn here." A small, wooded path winded into the forest in front of us. Wonderful. Another path into the woods. Because we all know Bailey just loves those!

He saw my eyed go wide. "What's wrong? It's safe, I promise. I found it when I was seven, and I was really stupid when I was seven, so I think we'll be okay."

"No, no, it's not..." I swallowed. "It's just, I mean, you and I both know that I don't have the best reputation with..."

Understanding clicked on his face and he burst out laughing. "Oh, well, you don't have to worry about that either. No unexpected werewolf explosions this time, promise."

I nodded, still not fully ready to go trooping through the leafy green depths again. Seth started to confidentially walk into the forest, but when he saw me hesitating he took my hand and lead me in, swinging it between us.

"What _were _you thinking when you came looking for me, anyways? For some reason you don't strike me as the..."

"As the what?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. The bushwhacking type."

I made a face at him. "I wasn't bushwhacking. I was... well. Looking back, I guess I wasn't actually _thinking_ at the time. I just really wanted to know what was going on."

"You could've just asked. Would've saved yourself a lot of trouble."

"I did! But then Embry was like, 'go do the dishes, Bailey," He laughed, shaking his head and looking ahead. "Yeah, sorry. Embry..."

"How is everybody doing, by the way?"

"In the pack? We're good. Well, as good as it ever is."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, Leah's never really... happy. She and Sam were dating a while ago, but then he imprinted on Emily... long story, but we all have to live that painful love triangle thing. And Jacob's beating himself up about Bella, and Paul is always having trouble with his dad."

I squeezed his hand tighter. "Gosh, that must stink. Having to live through other people's problems. I have enough trouble dealing with my own." I looked down, embarrassed as soon as I heard the words. "I mean, not that I have huge problems or whatever, just- I can't imagine what that would be like. Living with other people's minds, I mean."

He returned the gesture with his hand, tracing a burning line on the back of my hand with his thumb. "Yeah, it can be really annoying sometimes. You have _no _idea how hard it is to plan a surprise birthday party. But at the same time... it's only been a couple weeks, but I couldn't imagine life without all of them barging in on my thoughts all of the time. And, it's only when I'm a wolf," He made a horrified face. "God, that would be horrible if it was all the time..."

"I can only imagine what Paul would be saying right now."

"Paul? Oh Jeez. _'What're you waiting for, bro? Jump her!'_"

Both of us laughed, the noise brightening the forest.

He reached out and pulled back a branch that I was about to face-plant into, making sure that it didn't whip back at me when he let go.

"We're almost there, by the way."

"Where?"

"The date, butterfly. The reason you put on that pretty skirt, remember?"

"Oh! Right, right. Is it the beach? I love the beach. I just hope it doesn't rain. Not that I don't like the rain, but-"

My babble of chatter, giddy as it was because my body was so unused to being able to talk freely in the presence of somebody else, was cut off as the woods abruptly ended, and we were bathed in the morning-grey light that was signature to Washington.

The view quite literally took my breath away.

Either we had been traveling uphill and I hadn't noticed, or the land was far above sea level, because we were now standing on a cliff. Where the forest ended, rock and velvet moss took its place. Boulders jutted out of the ground at random intervals, and little pools of water collected at the bottom of them. Birds flew overhead, crying out to each other and dive-bombing into the water far below.

The ground sloped gradually downward for twenty feet before it abruptly dropped off in a straight edge. The water swirled, grey and white-capped, sickeningly far below, beating against the bottom of the cliff. Pieces of the rock jutted out on the way down, only about five feet of space, with moss and ferns growing off of them. On one a waterfall flowed out of the land, the stream of water dropping seeming positively puny in comparison to the power of the ocean in which it was entering.

I let go off Seth's hand, stepping out from the shelter of the trees.

The air swirled into my lungs, fresh and cold and smelling like the ocean. I could hear the birds above me, swooping and chasing each other. The wind coming off of the cliff was strong. It seemed to steal my breath away from me, blowing pieces of my hair over my face and around my neck, roaring in my ears.

I let out a cry of exhilaration that turned into a laugh as I spread out my arms, closing my eyes and turning in a circle.

It seemed like nothing else but the wind and me existed.

Oh, and Seth.

"You like it?" He asked, he was laughing, one of those smiles on his face that showed all of his teeth and lit up his body and the hollow beneath my chest.

"Oh my gosh, Seth!" I cried, nearly throwing myself into him in my wind/height and scary ocean induced excitement. "It's amazing! It's-its- oh my gosh, I_love_ it!"

He laughed again, the sound ringing through me despite the wind. His arms slid underneath me and then the rock beneath me disappeared. And then somehow he wasn't holding me up anymore, I was holding onto him, my legs wrapped around his waist and we were kissing. He was _burning. _The wind made anything that wasn't touching him go numb, and then all I knew was him pressed against every inch of my body, my hands tangling in his hair.

My lungs started protesting and I realized that I had forgotten to breathe.

I tore myself form him, the separation almost painful. My chest heaved up and down against him, and our eyes met and he caught me there. So dark you could almost not see the pupil, they were rich and liquid, sucking me in and I was blissfully drowning in black coffee, in the sky right after twilight...

He was all I knew. It was only Seth. Seth and me were the only things that existed.

"This is amazing," I whispered.

"You're amazing."

I laughed again, so happy that it seemed like that was the only thing I could do, and he gently let me slide back to the ground

"Well," he said, retrieving the canvas bag from where he had dropped it. "As overjoyed as I would be to just kiss you the whole time, I did bring food... are you hungry?"


	26. Happiness

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"Did you do this?"

I gestured around us, to the quilt with daisies on it, apples and carrots haphazardly arranged around us on the rocks. In one of my hands was a half-eaten peanut butter sandwich, a sandwich that brought an irrational amount of happiness to me. He had remembered I didn't eat meat.

"Yup. Well, I did it, but then I'm pretty sure my mom came in and redid it."

I smiled, picking up the Mason jar that served as our centerpiece and turning it around in my hands. It had a ribbon tied around the lid, and was filled prettily with sand and seashells. "Well, tell her thanks. This is cute." He nodded, and then saw what I was holding. "Yeah, when I think of Mason jars I think salsa, not DYI decoration or whatever."

"DIY," I smiled, correcting him.

We sat on the pretty quilt, listening to the birds play in the air above our heads. He had brought us to a little mossy alcove, sheltered from the wind by a massive U-shaped boulder with its back to the cliff. It effectively stopped the wind, but I found myself craning my neck out every couple of minutes to take in the view all over again.

My hair was scattered in general unruly disarray all over my shoulders. I didn't care-Seth said he liked it that way. We sat across from each other, his legs spanning the width of the concave rock and resting near my hips. His feet moved back and forth to some song that I couldn't hear, his hands drumming on the rocks. Seth was always moving, seemed to always be in some kind of happy, bouncy motion.

For some reason it reminded me of the fishing poles. I couldn't imagine him sitting still long enough to render any proactively in the sport.

"Do you fish?"

"A little. I used to, a lot more." He stared at me in that tingly, exposing way he had. "Why?"

I shrugged. "Just wondering. I saw the fishing poles at your house."

"Oh, yeah. Those were my dad's."

"Your da-" I stopped, remembering that his dad was dead. "Oh. That's right, he's not... I mean, he- I- I'm sorry." I ended with my eyes on the ground. I knew how annoying the words "I'm sorry" were when people found out that my parents were separated. Was it the same when somebody died?

"S'fine." Seth's words were quiet, which was unlike him.

I wanted to know more, but I didn't want to make him sad...

"How was that?"

"When he died?"

I nodded, and then quickly backtracked. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I mean, he was your dad. Of course it... wasn't easy."

He smiled, a small melancholy smile that didn't fit his face. It made my chest ache.

"Yeah, it wasn't easy. But at the same time it wasn't as hard as you might... imagine."

"What do you mean?"

He shifted his weight, moving so his hands were laced behind his head. "Yes, it was sad. He had an open coffin funeral, which I was _not _a big fan of. And then everybody was crying and not talking and giving us all of these crappy casseroles... But there was never a point when I thought I wouldn't be okay, you know?"

Our eyes came back to meet mine, and I nodded, wishing I could smooth away the sad crease between his eyebrows.

"Because, even when it was all horrible and sad and stuff, I still knew that two months from then, life would be back to normal. My mom would stop crying every day, and Leah would start talking to people again instead of just staring at them like she was plotting their death."

I smiled, able to imagine that very well with the brief encounters with Leah that I had.

"Do you get what I'm saying? Or did that sound like I just blew over my dad's death?"

"No, I get it. Not that anybody close to me has ever died. Except for my cat, but that doesn't count." No need to mention that when dear Busterfer Jones died, I cried so hard I had to miss school for two days.

He nodded, and there was silence while we both ate. After a minute he looked up abruptly, eyes meeting mine but being very far away at the same time.

"I don't get it. I mean, I was sad and everything, and I guess that was a good thing-"

"Good thing? How could you being sad be..."

"Because he was my _dad_. And that's how you're supposed to feel, right?" He continued. "But _why_? Why do we feel that way? Because everybody dies. Every single person. Me, Leah, you..." His eyes came back to me, looking abruptly pained. "Okay, that one is a little harder to think about. But the point is, if it happens to everybody, then why is it still so sad? You would think some kind of physic numbing or something would apply."

I cocked my head to look at him. "Yeah. I've thought about that before, too... And, if you think about it, it's really stupid. Humans are- we're _mortal_, and it's stupid."

Seth smiled, and my heart lifted, happy to see that return, even if it was at the expense of him thinking I was a little wacko. The girl who thinks about death in her free time.

"But at the same time," I continued, excited, because nobody had ever listened to me like this. "It's kind of cool. Or funny, or something. Because, if you think about it, death is the one thing that unites us all. Not everything breathes or loves, and some things are, like, created instead of born. But every human, every plant or animal, every organism-_everything _dies."

He looked at me thoughtfully. "Funny how the one thing that "unites us all" is so horrible."

I shrugged, taking another bite of my sandwich. "Not everybody thinks it's horrible."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. I'm not one of those people. But I don't think it's the actual death that's so horrible."

"What, then?"

"Well, you know how people will cry at the end of really good movies, or at the last day of school, or at weddings... It's like that. It's the end of something good. That's what really make us sad."

He didn't meet my eyes.

I finished up my lunch and moved so I was sitting next to him, the better to look at him while he thought about what I said. He put his hand on my leg, absent-mindedly playing with the lace at the edge of the skirt.

I rested my head on his shoulder.

"So, you're okay with the werewolf thing?"

I was glad for the change in subject. "Yup. A-okay. I'm sorry about that whole episode in the woods."

"My fault. I didn't tell you, and-"

"And so you'll loathe yourself for all eternity, blah, blah, blah."

He laughed into my hair, and I closed my eyes. "Are you happy you're a werewolf?"

I felt him shrug. "Yeah. Kind of a loaded question, though. It's like asking if you're happy you're a girl, or if you're a human. And I never really had a choice, so what' the use in regretting it?"

I nodded, and felt his hand come up to tuck some pieces of hair off of my face.

"Did it throw a wrench in your plans or anything?"

He laughed. "What plans?"

"Oh, well... like, what did you want to be when you were older?"

"Um... when I was five I wanted to be a Jedi. Does that count?"

I opened my eyes to roll them at him, and he was so close that I couldn't resist pushing up and pecking him on the lips. I ducked back quickly, covering my hand with my mouth and laughing. He teased me when I wouldn't let him find my mouth again, kissing me on the cheek, forehead, nose...

He took my hand from my face and laced it with his, looking at it pensively.

"I just have to ask... _Why _do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You cover up your smile. Every time."

I blushed, wishing he would give me my hand back so I could cover my face. "Oh, well... It's just, my smile-"

His eyes flashed. "Your smile?"

"Yeah. I don't... like it. Not to sound petty, but... don't tell me that you don't think it's not kind of ugly."

He stared at me, eyes wide and incredulous.

"Not that I'm complaining. I mean, I honestly don't mind, it's just that-"

He kissed me full-on, arm coming behind my back and swinging me down so I was on the ground and he was bracing over me. My eyes were still open, going deer-in-the-headlights at the suddenness and the jolt of lightning that I would never get used to. And then I closed them and chided myself for wasting any moment of the time in which Seth's lips were on mine... and then he was pulling away.

"Bailey. You're smile is the most beautiful, wonderful, perfect thing I have ever seen in my life. And if you ever say anything otherwise, I will tell in the nicest possible way to shut up."

The perfect end to the perfect date.

* * *

"Oh my gosh, holy-Seth!" I broke off in a scream

Seth was behind me, laughing. In the "nicest possible way," of course.

The wind flared and I screamed again, thrashing around like some kind of dying animal with my arms.

When we had finally packed up, I insisted I carry something. Seth gave me a carrot. I threw it back at him, insisted I carry something more substantial, and picked up the quilt. It wasn't heavy, but even rolled up it was kind of big, so I had to use both arms. And I didn't want to get the pretty yellow fabric dirty by dropping it on the ground or anything.

Which was why it was such a problem when we turned our backs to the wind, and it unexpectedly caused that nice skirt I was wearing to blow right up, exposing my purple, Powerpuff underwear (which, sadly, considering they were tight-ish and not Hanes and bikini style, were the sexiest pair of underwear I owned) for all the general public eye. Or Seth.

Which wasn't excruciatingly embarrassing AT ALL.

And the worst part was that I was still clinging onto that quilt, so I couldn't really push it back down.

"Oh my go-" I screamed, trying hold the quilt with my elbow whilst simultaneously- nope. That didn't work. Okay, what about if I put it behind-

The wind gusted again. Seth was still laughing. I gave him what I hoped was the Slitty Eyes Of Death.

"I-I'm sorry- you just- you look like what's-her-face? Marilyn Monroe?"

All right, trying to put the quilt behind me wasn't working.

"Seth! Help!"

"If there was another guy here, then definitely, but I'm actually really enjoying this."

More wind. More screaming, more awkward thrashing of the quilt and more skirts being blown sky high. _Drop the damn blanket, Bailey._

Still laughing, Seth finally came to my rescue and took the quilt from me. I used a hair tie to tie the traitorous skirt with a big knot on the side, sarong-style, so that it was tight enough it would stay _where it was supposed to_.

I marched ahead, not looking back at Seth, doing my best to ignore him. I stopped, though, at the entrance to the forest. There was something that I had wanted to ask him...

"Wait, Seth?"

"Yes, Miss Powerpuff?"

"Never mind," I muttered, about to turn on my heel, hopefully hitting him in the face with my swinging hair.

"No, no- wait. I'm sorry. That was mean. I'm sorry. Really. And," he laughed, "I never said that I didn't approve the Powerpuff girls. I mean, if anybody can rock it, you ca-"

I huffed.

"Right. Sorry. You were saying?"

"I..." He honestly did look sorry, fighting to keep himself from laughing, so I decided to kindly forgive his previous lack of chivalry. "I was just wondering if you could... turn into a wolf. Right now. Just so I could, like, see you once and stuff without freaking out."

He looked a little surprised at my request, but shrugged and set down the bag with all of the picnic stuff. "Sure. As long as you promise you won't have a panic attack again, because that _really _sucked."

I nodded. "I promise."

His hands moved to the hem of his shirt and I froze when he started pulling it up, but he stopped. I jerked my eyes from the "V" of his muscles that stemmed from his shorts, to look at his face. His eyebrows were raised at me mischievously.

I remembered last time.

"Oh-oh, right," I stuttered. "I'll just- I'm gonna- um, I'll..." I fluttered my hands a little, settling on awkwardly turning my back a couple seconds of flustering later and covering my eyes.

Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Seth was probably naked behind me _right now_!

Ooooooh...

NO! Bad Bailey! Stop-

A hot breath near my shoulder, followed by a wet nose snuffing close to my ear interrupted my mental battle between my hormones and my brain.

I gasped and jerked around, drawing back instinctually. No, geez, don't worry; I wasn't going to hyperventilate again. I was just surprised.

The wolf- wait, _Seth, _drew back immediately, one paw in the air, eyes wide and worried.

That was what did me in. His eyes. Seth's eyes. Same as ever.

We stared at each other for a moment, and then I approached him slowly. I reached out tentatively with one hand- was it okay to pet your boyfriend? GOD that sounded wrong- and rested it right above his nose. The fur was soft, smooth. I smiled.

I didn't cover my mouth.

Seth closed his eyes in contentment, tail beating the ground with each wag and scattering moss.

He was huge- about the size of a horse, but my body refused to show any sign of fear. Why should I be afraid of Seth? I ran my fingers through his tan, sandy fur, cupped my hands and stroked the velvet of his ears.

"You know," I started, and he opened his eyes, his wide ones staring into mine. "For a horse sized wolf, you're pretty cute."

Eventually, Seth changed back, and we made our way back to the house. I was surprised how easy it was- him going between his two forms. Wolf-Seth or human-Seth, it didn't matter.

It was all Seth, and I was all his.

* * *

**Happy early birthday, xosammyxo! :)**

**All right, I would like you to savor this chapter for a little bit... because, of course, now that everything is perfect, fate gets to come in and screw it all up again.**

**Also... calling all good summary writers! It has come to my attention that my summary has little to do with my story anymore. I'm thinking maybe the new one could have something to do with Leah... or it could be one of those really vague ones like, "She was quiet. He wasn't." Except that sounded really stupid. Help? Pretty Please? **

**I've been trying to find a picture of Bailey for a while, and I posted a URL on my profile to the picture, because it wouldn't let me do it in the chapter (and, no, I'm not just trying to scam you into visiting my profile). It's Keisha Castle-Hughes, the actress from Whale Rider.**


	27. The Reason Behind My Sexy Beastyness

**Ultra-super-mega thanks to Free. Izzy and Dreamer for the summary suggestions. I fell in love with Dreamer's, but I liked 's idea of just keeping it short and sweet... Long story short, I have spent entirely too much time obssessing over this summary, and decided to finally just slap something down and get the chapter out without delaying any further because of the summary.**

**So it will probably still be changed. Sorry. **

**Enjoy the chapter! Leah POV. PLOT TWIST. Penny for your thoughts...**

Did he leave it just so that I could give it back to him?

Was it an excuse for him to come back and see me?

Was I over thinking this like a petty school girl?

Probably.

Ian left his paycheck at the store. Gas station. Whatever.

Well, not a check. More like an envelope filled with bills that, even after you've been working there for over a year and have collected many of these envelopes, couldn't buy you even the smallest and crappiest car in all of Washington.

Trust me.

So there I was, at the store, just feeling kind of happy in general. It was an odd feeling, and I was sitting on the counter and smiling and enjoying it, because it isn't every day that you just feel happy for no apparent reason other than a fourteen (almost fifteen!) year old.

And then I saw the envelope sitting there on the counter next to me. The envelope full of five-dollar bills that Ian had been pestering me about ever since the day I met him. And once I could finally deliver it to him, he had upped and left for home without even taking it with him.

It must be a sign, right?

He left it there as an excuse for me to bring it to him, back at his house?

I really, really hoped so.

I had asked him where he lived once, and he had said his house was right off the highway, and gestured vaguely to the right side of the store. Using these as my directions, I set off along the highway, envelope tucked in my waistband.

What? It wasn't like I had anything better to do.

Except patrol. But if I wasn't a wolf, then Sam couldn't force me to do it—he didn't even know where I _was_.

Ha. Suck that.

Drips of water pooled off from the leaves of overhanging branches and saturated the top of my head, but it wasn't raining. I guessed it was around seven, and the sun was going down just enough so that passing cars' headlights glinted yellow off of the street. It felt very good just to walk, propel myself forward on my own free will. No body telling me what to do, no body expecting me to go faster or slow down or get that scowl off of my face… I held my flip-flops by the straps in one hand, having foregone the squeaky plastic long ago for the feel of the ground (well, pavement) underneath my feet.

I started humming some jingle from a cat food commercial, and started laughing at myself. I was _not _a hummer.

It occurred to me that I barely knew anything about Ian's home life. I knew he had a mean dad who he visited before he came to work. He was always quiet after the visits, the scar above his eyebrow standing out more visibly. I wondered about their dad. I didn't like him

He also had a sister. She was quiet. He loved her. I didn't like her either.

I didn't remember him ever mentioning anything about his mother. What was she like? I could imagine her as a tired-looking, once beautiful women in her thirties… one of those single moms who doesn't have much but loves her kids so much that she'll work three jobs to support them. The kind of mom that makes cookies a lot.

She must be nice, I decided. Ian was nice. He must've had somebody to take after.

Ten minutes later, a bend in the highway opened up to reveal a house. Painted grey and with a cookie-cutter design, it one of those houses made out of cheap wood with sheets of rock on the outside to make it look authentic. It had no identification at all—no porch lights or welcome mats or random watering cans sitting on the front porch, like mine. The only indicator that it was even lived in was tire tracks that cut a line through a bush and the grass of the front yard, and a dim yellow light that came from one of the windows.

I really hoped this was his house. I really hoped that I wasn't going to go knocking on some random person's door.

The wet grass was cold on my feet.

I stopped when I reached the door, making use of my werewolf hearing. There was definitely people inside-I heard the _clink_ of a glass set down on a table, indistinct voices…

I rapped the door. Listened.

Silence, then more blurry voices…

"…trying to kill us…"

"Chill, just get the door…"

"…_Me?_ You want _me _to…"

The second voice was a girl, oddly familiar. The recognition was blurry, surreal… I recognized the feeling meant that I had heard it indirectly through one of my packmates' thoughts.

Before I could drive myself batty trying to figure out who it was, Ian opened up the door. He was wearing a classic Ian Outfit of a plaid button down and sweatpants, the height of male fashion.

"Hey," he said around a handful of popcorn he had just shoved in his mouth.

"Hey."

"Are you stalking me?"

"Yes. I followed you home. Now I'm gonna kill you."

"No way, then who would take inventory?"

I smile. "Kidding." I slipped out the envelope and smacked it against his chest. "You left this."

His eyes widen, and he let the door close behind him. "My paycheck. How did I forget that?"

Geez, Ian, I don't know. How _did_ you forget that? It didn't have anything to do with me, did it? His eyebrow furrowed and he peered past me down the street, looking confused.

"How did you get here?"

"I walked."

"How did you know where I lived?"

"I told you, I'm stalking you."

He rolled his eyes and patted himself down, looking for pockets, before folding the envelope in half and sticking it in his sock. "Well, creepy or not, thanks. For bringing it." He straightened up, taller than me by an inch.

"Do you want to come in..." He trailed off, ducking back inside the door for a second before reappearing. "Never mind. I don't want you in my house. Can I invite you to sit in the front yard?"

"What's in your house?"

He waved his hand dismissively back in the direction of the house, then walked past me out to the front yard. I watched him ease himself to the ground, sopping as it was, then lay down completely, hands behind his head. He closed his eyes. It was getting dark.

I wathced him for a mintue, then went to join him. I laid on my stomach, the dead grass poking through the fabric of my tee-shirt. I rested my head on my arms.

"You walked here?"

"Yeah. You do it every day."

"Yeah, but_ I_ don't have a life."

"Who said _I_ did?"

He turned his head to look at me."What do you do in your free time?"

"Why?"

"I don't know. You must not have a lot on your plate to have the time to _walk _here just to give me this. I could've gotten it tomorrow."

"Either that, or I really like you."

"Of course you do. You love me."

"No I don't. Do _you_ love me?"

"Absolutely not."

"That's what I thought. What was your question?"

"I want to know what you do when you're not at the shop." Um, let's see... phase into a wolf, eat some elk, run around in the woods, fight with my packmates...

"Guess."

"I have no idea."

"Guess."

He blew air out of his nose. "Do you, like... paint?"

I snorted."Paint? Bad guess. I don't paint for crap. Do I look like the painter type to you?"

He didn't say anything, but squinted his eyes at me. I stared back evenly for a couple of seconds, then stuck out my tongue and was awarded with a smile.

"Do you run?"

"Sure. I run away the washing machine. I run a gas station, kind of."

"Bad joke. You know what I meant you seem like the type to run 5ks every weekend."

"Yeah, I run..." Did running through the reservation as a wolf count? It wasn't exactly for recreation. "Kind of."

He made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "You always say that. Why do you always say that? 'Kind of.' I asked if you had a dog, you said kind of. I asked if it ran in your family or something for your skin to be so- so _burning, _and you said kind of. Is that you're catch phrase or something? Because it's really stupid."

I opened my mouth to talk, but he interrupted me again. "And I know your response to that is going to be 'kind of,' so I'm just going to cut you off right there."

I smiled briefly and shoved him with an elbow. How do I answer that? "No, it's not a catchphrase. It's just... my life... it's like, halfway, you know?"

"No, I don't. Not at all."

"I don't feel like I'm going anywhere. I feel stuck. And everything is just... wishy-washy. Like, I don't know what I want to do with my life, or who I am." Or what I am. Monster? Human? Something in between?

He rolled over closer to me so that he was propped up on his elbows, looking down at me. "So? You don't need to know those things."

"According to , yes you do."

" is a douche. Take me, for example." He grinned. "My philosophy in life is that 'It's the thought that counts.' Then when you fail miserably at something you can just shrug it off and be like, Hey, I tried."

I laughed, shaking my head.

That attitude didn't sound so bad.

I looked at Ian, about to voice this, when a sudden, deja-vu-esque experience hit me. It was like before, when I wanted him to kiss me. Out of the blue, I just saw this skinny guy in front of me, and there was no doubt in my brain that I wanted this boy. But it was different this time. Not in the suddenness, that was all the same, but in the direction of the thought.

I wanted to tell him.

I wanted him to _know_.

About everything. About Sam and Emily and the imprinting screwiness, about my father being dead, about my brother and his obnoxious girlfriend, but most of all... that I was a werewolf. Well, technically spirit wolf, but that was just getting unecessarily fancy.

The idea was incredulous, of course. If he told anybody, then-

But Ian wouldn't tell anyone. Would he? No. If I made him promise not to. And in some ways he reminded me of Seth, always acting like the sun shined out of his ass. And Seth had been mainly thrilled with the whole wolf prospect, right? So he probably wouldn't freak out about it.

And if I told him I'de kill him if he told anybody... Oh God. I wanted to _so _bad. He would understand. He would scoff at imprinting and how stupid it was, he was make jokes at my packmates' expense, he would love to hear about what elk tasted like... But it was forbidden. Strictly out of the question. I didn't even know if he was Quileute. Anybody who found out I told would be pissed beyond recognition, and Sam would be _so _angry, probably have a coronary...

All right. That did it.

"I have a secret."

Was this the right thing to do? Would he think of me in a different way? Would it change what was going on between us? What _was _going on between us?

"Really."

Ian eyed me, and I bit my lip. I should not do this. I am not going to do this. But it would just be so... _thrilling _to finally tell someone, to break all the rules.

"Pray tell."

I swallowed hard, and looked at Ian dead in the eyes. Green-blue eyes. Pretty. Guy-pretty.

"I..."

How do I word this? No. No. You are not doing this. This is a horrible thing to do, it's not your secret to tell-

"I'm a werewolf."

Ian blinked at me.

Silence.

"So am I."

The tension that had accumulated in my whole body in the silence abruptly left.

"I'm not kidding, Ian."

"Neither am I. Full moon, I totally go all X-Men-"

"_No_, Ian. I'm serious. I'm dead serious." My eyes widened when I realized that I had actually _told _him. "And I'm not kidding when I say dead, either. If you tell anybody, I'll kill you."

Apparently something in my face either convinced Ian that I wasn't joking, rather that I was raving nutcase. "You..." He swallowed, eyeing me. "You couldn't kill me."

"Yes I could. I'm a werewolf."

A tension-filled silence followed that, and I was really considering throwing my hands in the air and saying "Happy Early April Fools!" This was not going as expected.

"Well," he said, abruptly jumping up so that he was on his feet. "I'm not really sure how to respond to that, so-"

"I could show you."

He stared at me. "It's not the full moon."

I rolled my eyes. "Myth. Kind of. Long story. Do you want me to show you?"

His eyes darted from the door back to look suspiciously at me. "Um. Sure. But just for the record, I don't actually believe you, so if this is some kind of weird joke then you can't make fun of me for having gone along with it."

I stood up, my hands starting to fumble as they lifted up my shirt. My breath was suddenly hitching in my throat. Was I really going to do this? What if he freaked? I wasn't actually doing this... What if he told somebody? I couldn't _actually _kill him. I don't think.

When he saw what I was doing he abruptly stepped back, palms raised defensively. "Woah there, all right, if that was some kind of sick innuendo thing then I really-"

"No, Ian," I said, rolling my eyes. Even though I was shaking, I had the nerve to be vaguely annoyed. It was one of the things that always surprised the newcomers- no, unlike on Scooby Doo, our clothes don't just _magically_ apparate when we phase. "I don't want to rip my clothes when I change. I'll be big. Car sized."

He stared at me.

"Just turn around, dumbass."

After another second, he slowly turned around so he was facing the door. I moved so that he wouldn't be able to see me reflected in the glass panes, then peeled my shirt off. After checking to make sure some school bus or something wasn't coming, the rest of the clothes came off too. And then, before I could change my mind or Ian could run away screaming, I phased. My skin fizzed, fur making its way up through the pores, muscles stretching and writhing and growing underneath skin, limbs warping into sinuous legs. After a second, it was over. It wasn't even painful anymore. And then there I was.

A wolf.

In Ian's front yard.

We really should have done this in a more private setting.

He still wasn't facing me. I didn't know what to do- should I bark? Touch his shoulder or something with my nose?

He turned around. Stared at me for a second, then jerked himself backwards so fast that he landed on his butt on the wet ground.

His mouth was wide open, hands balled into fists and reached halfway up, as if they were caught in the process of covering it.

He stared at me, eyes the size of saucers. He didn't move.

Ten seconds.

Twenty seconds.

He slowly lowered his head, dropping it down to his chest. His hands reached up to cover his eyes, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

A full minute passed. I was counting. I screwed up, I screwed up. I should not have done this. A sense of dread was making my stomach heavy. What the hell was I supposed to do _now_?

He lifted his head back up. He stood up. His face lookedalmost normal, like when he had opened the door. He brought a hand up behind his neck. I opened my eyes wide, knowing that they were the only part of me that still looked the same.

"Can we go someplace else? I don't want my sister to see you and, like, have a panic attack or something." Of course. Of course he would be worried about his sister.

I nodded my big wolfy head, but neither of us moved. He stared at me again, but this time it was different. His eyes were suspicious. Curious, but guarded.

"Actually... you can't talk to me, can you?" I shook my head. "But you can understand me?" I nodded. "Then... can you just change back? Like, can you do that? Or..."

I nodded, and he hesitantly turned back around, not sure exactly what he was supposed to be doing. He didn't go into shock. He didn't start screaming or run in and call the police. Maybe I could make this work... I phased back.

"Ian?"

He turned back to look at me, then glanced nervously back at the house. Our eyes met, and I took a step forward. He didn't move back. Maybe this would be okay.

"Ian, I can-"

He held up a hand to stop what I was saying, closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again, looking at me evenly. "How?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. What did he want to know? I was abruptly overwhelmed by so much I had to explain. It wasn't like when you were a wolf and you automatically knew everything that everybody else knew.

"How... is this possible?"

Quileute. The tribe. Start at the beginning.

"Maybe we should..." I gestured to the house.

"No. We'll stay out here. Tell me."

I took a deep breath. "Do you know any Quileute legends?"

* * *

Twenty minutes later, we were still sitting out in the front yard.

It was dark. A street lamp shined vaguely in the distance. My clothes were saturated.

A smile kept tugging at the corner of my mouth, but I wasn't sure whether I could let it out yet. Ian had listened to the whole explanation with nothing but a kind of distant curiosity on his face. It didn't change. He didn't really comment or make snide comments, something that I considered unexpected and not entirely welcome.

He asked questions.

Question after question after question... I would finish explaining one thing, and no sooner had I taken a breath then he would launch in on another explanation he wanted from me. How we phased, what it felt like, what we ate, the history, our "powers"...

The only time when I lied was when, in the very beginning, he asked what the purpose of us changing into wolves was. The truth was to protect ourselves from the "cold ones," or the dirty stinking mosquitos known as vampires. I didn't tell him that. I told him that it was to protect ourselves from the humans. Vampires _and _werewolves in one day just seemed like too much. Plus, it would necessitate another volley of questions that I most likely couldn't answer.

He had finally run dry of things to ask about. I was too nervous that he was going to have some kind of secondary reaction- PTS or something- to enjoy the brief silence.

He tore up the grass with his hands, pressed onto the ground behind him. I saw his chest move up and down as he took a deep breath, and then he looked up at me.

His eyes were shining. He beamed at me.

"Leah... that is just so... undescribably _awesome_!"

And then he was laughing and I was laughing, feeling freer and happier then I ever had in my life. He knew. Everything. I had no more secrets.

He was still laughing, shaking his head at me. "That sure explains a lot."

"A lot? Like what?"

"Just... _everything_. Like, I asked what you do in your free time, and now that I think about it, being a wolf definitely fits your persona." I rolled my eyes. "Like, why you sometimes make this noise and I always thought it sounded like you were growling, and how you have the same weird hours as I have, and you're so hot..."

"Oh, the werewolf thing has nothing to do with my attractiveness. I was born a sexy beast."

"Beast? Yes. Sexy? N-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, kid." I back-tracked. "Sorry, not kid. Ian."

He smiled.

"So, is there anything else?"

"God, you have _more _questions?"

"Well, not really questions, but... like, there was the thing when you're _skin _was really hot, and how you all look kind of alike. Are there any more, like, kooky little wolf-isms?"

I stopped mid-laugh at "kooky little wolf-isms."

Crap. Imprinting. One more secret.

I guess he saw how my face took a slighty green tinge, because he hesitantly touched my arm with one hand. "Leah? Are you okay? Did that, like, cross a line or something? I mean, you've told me so much already..."

"No, no... There's one more thing." I was going to tell him. Why wouldn't I? _I _hadn't imprinted. He wouldn't think any less of _me_. "It's called imprinting."

"Imprinting?" He burst out laughing. I scowled at him until he stopped. "Wait, but isn't that that thing where a duckling will, like, see a cow or something right as it's born, and then it follows it around because-"

"No, Ian. Not at all. It's like... you know how wolves mate and stuff? Like, for life? It's kind of like that. A guy wolf- well, it's only been guys so far- will see a girl. Usually Quileute. Anyways, he'll see her, and..." I struggled for words to describe imprinting. The love went beyond words. To Seth, Bailey was worth more than the rest of the lives on Earth. Psh. What made _her _so great? I could act like a stuttering idiot, too. "And she becomes the center of their world. They're made for each other, blah blah... they'll get married. Stuff like that."

Ian cocked his head. "Oh. that's...nice."

His words pierced right through my heart. Wait. Wait, what? For some reason I had expected him to be grossed out by it. Well, not so much as expected, but wanted. I wanted somebody else who hated imprinting just as much as I did.

"No, Ian. No, it's not nice. It's _sick_."

"What? But-"

"Do you know why wolves mate? Because they want little wolf babies. They choose mates who are the most compatible with them."

Ian stared at me, something slowly changing in his eyes.

"Wait, so the girls that they imprint... she's like a concubine?" Both of our faces twisted when he said the word. Deep down, I knew that wasn't what imprinting was _at all_. If Emily didn't want kids, Sam would never in a million years force her. But I had never been able to openly slander imprinting, and it just felt so _good_.

And the ball was already rolling. I briefly thought of Kim and Jared, but their relationship was just too pure for me to think of anything bad about it. But Sam and Emily... _they're_ love was tinted with my hate. I thought of them when I spoke.

"And you know what the worst part is? They _think _that they love each other. The guy thinks that, as soon as he sees the girl, his heart belongs to her, only her. But he doesn't even _know _her. And then she, of course, falls in love with him, because he's just so sickeningly adoring and stuff, but really-"

"He's just trying to get into her bed. To have wolf babies. Oh my God, that's _horrible_. Wait- you're not- you haven't-"

I shook my head, still mentally cringing at the words "get into her bed." Sam would rather die. God, this was very conflicting. Between what I knew, and wanted I wanted to believe...

"No. I haven't imprinted. And if I do, I'll fight tooth and nail against it."

No need to say that fighting it would be next to impossible.

"Can it be any girl?"

"Yeah. Any girl. And-" I leaned forward, like I was sharing piece of juicy gossip. My conscious was _so _getting back at me for this. "It's not just a girl their age, either. One of the guys in the pack imprinted on a _two year old_."

Ian's mouth dropped open. "So he's a pedophile," he stated plainly, like a fact.

I swallowed thickly, but ignored the guilty sting. "Yeah. And so she's going to be attached to this guy for all of her whole entire life-"

"-and she didn't even get a choice, did she? She has no choice about who she wants to love, or have kids with."

"Yes!" Here we go."She's binded with this guy forever, for what? So they can procreate. And that's probably all he's ever going to think about. And he doesn't even really love her- it's just his genes telling him he does!"

"And so he's using her. In the worst possible way."

"Yes, exactly. I'm the only one in the pack who doesn't think it's absolutely disgusting."

Ian blew out a sigh. "Wow. That is... that is just... _disgusting_. Oh my gosh, poor girls... does everybody in the pack imprint?

I shook my head vehemently. "No. I probably-hopefully-won't. The people who have are Sam, Jared, Quil-"

"He's the pedophile."

"Um," I didn't answer. "Jacob, I don't think so, even though he's pretty attached to that Bella girl."

Ian was still shaking his head, his lips curled up slightly in horror.

"Oh," I added, realizing I had forgotten the obvious. "And Seth."

Ian didn't respond.

I was feeling very conflicted. On one hand, it felt amazing to just let the gush of the hate-tainted thoughts finally flow out. Imprinting had screwed up my whole life- I firmly believed that if Sam was still with me, then my life would be as close to perfect as it could be.

At the same time, I felt a little sick. The words were just _so _against what I knew was real. Quil was not a pedophile. Jared would never force Kim to be with him. Sam would never force his way into Emily's bed.

They loved their girls more than what was, literally, humanly possible. They had found their soul mates.

"Seth Clearwater?"

Ian's voice shook me out of my thoughts. His voice sounded choked. Pained.

"Yeah, my brother. Why? What's wrong?"

He stood up, not facing me. I looked at his fists. They were balled up so tight the knuckles showed white through the skin. He was shaking.

"Who is his imprint?" The words came out slowly, some strong emotion barely suppressed beneath them. I could see his body flinch, curl slightly when he said the word 'imprint.'

What was wrong?

"I don't know, like, Bailey or something. What's wrong?"

I caught a glimpse of his face.

He was paler than usual, chest rising and falling a little too quickly. His eyes were wide in disbelief, disbelief that didn't match his mouth. Upper lip curled, he reminded me of Paul right before he was about to try to kill somebody.

What the hell? He had been happy just a second ago...

Ian kept glancing back at the house, expression growing less angry and more worried by the second. "Bailey..." He muttered.

"Wha-"

"Thank you, Leah," he said abruptly. Before he had even finished talking, he had turned on his heel, heading sharply towards the house. "For telling me everything. I have to go."

And then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

Geez. What was that about? He said Bailey... it wasn't like he knew her, right?

Right?

**GASP! Is Ian going to tell Bailey? **


	28. UhOh

**Starting today, I will be going back-packing for a week. Because I can't really bring a laptop with me, I will NOT be updating for a week. Sorry. :( **

**Enjoy the chapter! **

I have two children, one boy and one girl, a husband who likes to travel, and a job as a doctor. Salary: 90,000.

A couple weeks ago, it would have pained me to think that the only normal, wholesome life I would get would be in a game of Life. Not anymore. Why have a "normal" life, when I could have Seth?

Ian, however, wasn't doing so well. It was his turn. The spinner made a loud _ticktickticktick_ when he flicked it, landing on a 6. He muttered the number under his breath as he moved his game piece, overflowing with small plastic children, forward six places. He drew a card.

"Oh my gosh, _another _kid? Where are all of these children popping out from? I'm not even married!"

"You're so kind, Ian. I never knew you were big on adoption."

"I'm not," he muttered, taking another plastic "child" to add to the pile accumulating on top of his skateboard. He didn't even have a car. He had to drive his kids to school on a skateboard. "This one was actually my great aunt's or something, and now it was dumped on my doorstep because she died or some- oh, crap. I have to pay funeral charges, too. Stop laughing, Bailey. This isn't funny. How am I supposed to feed seven children on seventeen dollars?" He held up his meager saving which was, in fact, seventeen dollars.

"It's your fault for not going to college."

"I was planning on drawing the athlete card, not being a- a- what am I?"

"A garbage man."

"Right. A garbage man. Living in a trailer."

"With seven kids."

"Would you quit rubbing it in?"

"I think it's safe to say I am winning this game."

Ian scowled at me across the game board, set out crookedly on our dining room table. His game pieces and cards were in a pile in front of him, some falling off to the ground or being blown across the room. My money was in neat, color-coordinated stacks in front of me, my "Life Cards" in a straight line underneath them. It was no wonder I was winning.

Ian hadn't mentioned my step-dad at all during the game, and I didn't mention Seth. It was nice just to play the game like we had ever since we were little, halfway pretending like all of the stuff that accompanied La Push hadn't come crashing into both of our lives.

Plus, I didn't really think Ian wanted to hear me squeal about Seth and how amzing he was. I think that was a girl thing.

Seth had picked me up this morning and we went back down to Emily's house, and Seth did something with the wolves while I helped Emily with the army-sized lunch portions. We ate down at the beach, and everybody in the pack ended up going into the ocean. I had refused to get into the hypothermia-inducing waters, and when this had resulted in Seth insisting he stay with me on dry land, Embry had unceremoniously swung me onto his shoulder and plopped me into the ocean. Seth, of course, almost had a heart attack and dunked Embry in the water before sprinting out and swooping me up before I could even start shivering.

I think it was the most fun I'd had in my life.

Just thinking about Seth filled me with fluttery butterfly wings of happiness in my stomach. I wondered, not for the first time, how I could ever be sad again. I had _Seth_.

For my turn I moved ahead for and got a pay raise. Salary: 95,000.

Ian looked at my growing pile of money, then looked back at his seventeen dollars.

"Can I trade my kids in for cash?"

"Ian! No, you may not-" I was interrupted by the sound of somebody knocking on our door. Ian's eyes met mine, both of ours filled with curiosity. Who was wanting something from us at 7:27 at night? My thoughts immediately took a negative turn (thieves! rapists! step-dads!), and Ian rolled his eyes when he saw the fear in mine. "Are you going to get it?"

"No," I stated obviously. "It's- it's probably somebody trying to kill us. It's late, if it's important they'll come back in the morning."

"Why are you always so freaked out about doors?"

"I'm not freaked out about _doors, _idiot, I'm worried about who's behind them.

"You know what I meant. Chill. Just get the door, and-"

"_Me_? You want _me _to get the door?" My voice rose with panic. I didn't even have the slight comfort that it might be Seth, because he said that he had patrol tonight, but would see me tomorrow. Definitely a thief.

"Okay, fine, I'll get it."

"No! Ian, just-"

"If I don't return in ten minutes, just assume I'm dead, 'kay?"

He swung himself off of the chair and strode to the front door, ignoring my little squeak of fear. I stamped my foot a couple times for my benefit, but ended up following behind him. He opened the door and I winced, just _sure _that a chloroform sheet was going to come up over Ian's mouth so that he would be left unconscious and I would be left defenseless and then somebody would take the opportunity to come in and-

Wait, why was _Leah _here?

My thoughts, as they probably would for the rest of my life, went in the "Seth" direction. Was he okay?

She didn't notice me.

"Hey," Ian said, leaning against the propped door.

"Hey." She looked just as scary as last time- arms folded across her chest, this scary amused little smile on her face.

"Are you stalking me?" I gave Ian a mental pat on the back. I would've asked the same thing.

"Yes. I followed you home, now I'm gonna kill you." I froze.

Ian smiled. "No way, then who would take inventory?"

"Kidding. You left this." She took out an envelope from her waistband, giving it to Ian. His face lit up as he took it in his hands. "My paycheck! How-" He let the door close, cutting off my means of eavesdropping.

I stayed nervously where I was for a minute, wondering whether I should go out and join the conversation or something.

Ha! Bailey _joining a conversation_. That's funny.

I settled for tentatively pulling back the curtains, just long enough to make sure Leah hadn't beat Ian up or anything. She hadn't. They were laying in the front yard, probably getting soaking wet, a little too close for what could be considered as a "strictly-friends work-relationship," which was what Ian told me was going on with Leah. seeing this and seeing the mischievous smile on his face when he said that, I couldn't say I believed him.

But- _ew_- she was like, twenty, right? Didn't he know that? Wasn't cradle-robbing something generally looked down upon?

I was overthinking this. Of course they weren't dating. Weren't dating, hadn't kissed... Ian was still my innocent kid brother.

With a lingering glance I let the curtain drop. I stared at the generic green fabric for a couple seconds, then opened it back up. He was still okay. They were still lying next to each other. All right, Bailey, time to stop playing the over-protective older sister.

I went back to the kitchen and put all of the game pieces back where they belonged in the box, anticipating that he would probably be out there for a while. I went to our kitchen and toasted a piece of bread, then added honey and butter and cinnamon. The perfect snack for curling up with a book.

I was wonderfully content. Food at hand, Seth tomorrow... all my worries just seemed to melt away to the "everything is actually going to be okay" part of my brain.

I was so happy.

Twenty minutes later, my phone buzzed on my dresser. The vibrations sent it skittering off of the dresser and into the clothes piled into one of my open drawers. I stared at it for a couple of seconds, confused.

The only person who knew my number was Ian and my mother... well, maybe not my mom, but she was asleep, anyways. That left Ian...

Ian! _Ian! _Leah was probably killing him right now!

But... if he was being creamed by a hundred forty pounds of female muscle, then wouldn't he run inside before he took the time to call me?

I let out a little gasp and launched myself across the room towards the phone when I remembered another option. Seth. Of course! I had given him my number.

SethSethSethSeth...

I snapped open the phone- it was one of those five-year old ones that actually still flipped open and didn't have a touch screen (only $10.99 at Verizon). My dissapointment to see that it was just a text was overided when I saw Seth's name in my inbox.

From Seth Clearwater: _Embry says he's sorry. You're okay, right? I'll pick you up sometime tomorrow. We can go anywhere you want, so don't freak out about what to wear. Sweet dreams. :) I love you. _

I laughed out loud, feeling like my chest was just filled to the brim with joy. He loved me! I would see him tomorrow! He loved me, and he was mine!

I was... I was... I was just SO HAPPY!

I laughed again, rereading the message over and over, imagining Seth saying it. I heard the door close roughly downstairs, and I quickly glanced out the window. It was dark; I was happy that Ian was back. Everything is perfect.

I was wondering what I should text back- not genuinely worried about it, just fantasizing what I could say that would make him laugh. What had he put in his last note to me? "With love, your oversized puppy." What could I do? "With love, your butterfly?" Who ever heard of a socially awkward butterfly?

I beamed again to the phone._ With love, your socially awkward butterfly_. I thought it was rather perfect.

The grating sound of the doorknob being turned on my door made me look up. Just Ian. He roughly shoved the door open, slamming the doorknob against the wall.

"Be nicer to the door, Ian. It never did anything to you." Despite the scolding my voice was light, unstuttering, and I beamed at him, my good mood carrying over.

My smile faltered when I saw him. His face was red, mouth set in an angry line, eyes flashing with worry.

"Ian? What's wrong?"

He took a deep breath, fists clenching and unclenching, then ran a hand down his face. "Bailey," he started out.

"Wait," I said, cutting him off. "You're okay, right?"

He looked annoyed. "Of course _I _am okay, it's you I'm - what is that?" He caught sight fo the phone, clutched like a life-line in my hand.

"My phone," I said, looking down at it. He had seen it before, right?

"I know, Bail," he said, his voice becoming softer. "I know what a phone is. Who did you get the text from?"

I lit back up, holding it up to him. "Seth," I said, my voice sounding ridiculously bubbly.

He tensed right back up. His eyes looked vaguely horrified, going wide and shining off of my lamp. I didn't understand. But I was still preoccupied by my Seth-induced happiness.

"Look, I know you don't really care... but just read this! He said he loved me, Ian. Can you believe that? And we went down to the beach today, and it was so much fun and all of his friends are amazing..." I trailed off. Ian looked vaguely sick.

In one sharp movement he swiped the phone from my hands, them having gone limp when I saw the expression on his face. His eyes ran across the screen frantically for a couple seconds.

"Ian? What's wrong."

He looked at me. He looked at the phone. He looked back at me. He looked at his feet.

"Bailey..."

"Yeah?"

"Does... _he_- does Seth," he swallowed, grimacing. "Does he make you... happy?"

Ian's voice sounded choked. I wished he would stop talking about Seth and tell me what was wrong. "Of course he makes me happy! He makes me happier then- then anything. Anything else in the world. Well, I mean, besides you, but you're my brother. Now will you tell me what's wrong?"

Ian sank to the ground, tossing aside a couple pairs of pants that were lying on the ground. He took a deep breath. He was paler than usual, still staring at the phone screen. "He makes you happy." He stated. I started to reach out for him, but pulled back. I didn't say anything.

After a minute he made a move to leave, but then settled back, staring at me.

His eyes reminded me of Seth.

Pleading. Pained. It hurt me.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I want you to be happy. But..."

"But what?"

His eyes roamed my room, seeming to avoid my gaze. He cracked his knuckles, then put one hand behind his neck. I winced. "Seth doesn't love you."

I stared at him, waiting for him to say something sensible.

"I'm sorry, Bail. But... I have to tell you."

"Tell me what?" I whispered, an icy feeling slithering down my throat when I swallowed.

"Leah just told me something. It's about the wolves. It's disgusting and sick and... it's called imprinting. I'm sorry."


	29. I Am The Fruitcake

**Allll righty! Finally another chapter! I will try to post tomorrow, seeing as school starts the day after that. :( School might make updates a little eratic, but I am clinging onto this story with all fours... Enjoy the chapter!**

_Sick._

_Mate._

_Fake._

_Imprinting._

The words that had come out of Ian's mouth wormed their way around in my brain. They slithered across all of the memories I had about Seth, tainting them and poisoning the butterflies in my stomach. Dead. I wanted to lay down and die. He imp-

He im-

He imprint-

My brain refused to think those two words. I just couldn't believe it.

But at the same time... how could I have been so _stupid_?

Of course he didn't love me. _Of course_. What was I thinking? The guy didn't notice me for a whole two years of his life. I was in his study hall, practically pining myself away, and he didn't even know my name. He probably hadn't even registered my existance. Then, one day, he sees me in a parking lot, sopping wet and looking about as appealing as a drunk platypus, and _BAM_.

Love At First Sight.

That was what he told me.

I punched my pillow repeatedly, my knuckles going through the thin layer of feathers and slamming painfully against the headboard. The pillow puffed back up, seemingly unharmed. Bitch. Stupid pillow. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I grabbed it, my hands shaking, and threw it across the room. It landed short of the door and thumped gently to the carpet. I pressed my hands to my face.

Stupid.

He didn't love me. I could just imagine what was going through his brain on that day, the fateful five minutes in the parking lot. The little wolf genes in his brain were probably just having the time of their little lives, construing the image of me and implanting it in his brain, twisting it around so that he had a fake idea of who I was. Making him beleive I was somebody who was worth loving...

It would be easier if I was actually angry at Seth.

I took a deep breath, the air hissing through my fingers. It hurt to think of him. The rope was back. It was too tight, it was grabbing my heart and making deep implants in the muscle, strangling and choking. My chest physically _hurt. _I slid my hands down to my sternum, pressing at the bone there, trying to keep myself together.

I could not find it in me to blame Seth.

It might be easier if I actually believed half of the things Ian had said. He would never lie to me on purpose, and who knows if Leah was really telling him the truth? He might be exaggerating, or she might be lying.

But, most of all, no matter what any instinctual, rational part of myself was telling me, I could not believe that Jared and Quil and Sam- it was less painful to think of this in terms of their relationships- were just trying to use their girls. "Use"... for their gene pool. No. I didn't believe it.

All of the scenes that supported this were flashing through my brain. Even just today, there were so many.

Down at the beach: Claire was there in all of her pudgy, three year-old cuteness. One of her favorite games was to play "nighty time," which consisted of Quil pretending that he was asleep for a couple seconds, before she would take a spoon to a metal pan and bang it around, saying things like _Wake up, Qwiwl! Up up up! It it time to get uuuuuuuuuup!. _Everybody laughed at how "into it" Quil got- he would stretch and snore dramatically, then jerk awake and look surprised every time the metal sounded. Claire laughed and laughed, and Quil never seemed to tire of the game, even when ten minutes later she was still saying _Nighty night Qwiwl! Time to go to sleeeeep! Go to sleep, and I will wake you up! _

I closed my eyes and fought a smile. A grown man, shamelessly laying in the sand, all for the delight of a little girl... I could not deny his face and how it lit up when she would laugh.

Or Kim. She was a year older then me and had applied early for college. When we first arrived at the house, she was fighting tears, because the college she had really wanted hadn't accepted her. She tried to smile and cover up her face with hair, apologizing over and over, saying that it was stupid to be so sad, that no, she wasn't really crying, that there were a million more colleges out there.

Jared wouldn't have any of that. He kissed her eyes and told her she wasn't allowed to apologize, wasn't allowed to cry over a college so stupid that they hadn't accepted her. Their mistake, he said.

Or when the boys finally came in, and Emily and myself were still in the kitchen, finishing up the fifth batch of muffins. The radio was on, playing sunnily over the cozy kitchen. A song by the Beatles came on when Sam walked in. He took the spoon from her and imitated Paul McCartney with his deep voice: _Oh darling, if you leave me, I'll never make it alone. Believe me when I beg you, don't ever leave me alone..._

Emily laughed and he twirled her around, her apron fluttering around her. He caught her and held her, arms wrapped around her waist. He hummed the song to the top of her head. She closed her eyes and smiled, tilting her head up.

I couldn't believe it. I could not believe that they didn't love each other.

So, you ask, what is your problem then, Bailey?

My problem: Emily was worthy of Sam's love. She was the nicest person I had ever met, welcoming and happy and forgiving almost to a fault. Kim was a a good person. She was always smiling. She was smart and funny and managed to make even someone like me feel comfortable around her. Claire... Claire was three. She was innocent. She probably had never had a malicious thought in her life.

And then... you have me.

I was like the proverbial black sheep in the little group. I was the crumbs at the bottom of the cereal box, the runny nose, the fruitcake, the one pair of atrocious socks from your aunt that sit in your drawer for three years before you finally get the guts to get rid of them. What had I ever done with my life?

I was not particularly mean... but that was just because I didn't talk enough to _be _mean. I sucked at school. I had no ambitions, was vaguely scared of dogs, and usually never took the time to recycle. I look like a warthog in the morning, a warthog with brushed hair after I get ready in the morning. Even my own _parents _didn't love me.

Oh my God! I was a failure! The most exciting thing that happened to me this week was when the smoke alarm went off because I wasn't paying attention to a cake in the oven, so transfixed to a commerial for Subway's new meatball marinara sub sandwich on TV!

Why had I never realized this before? Honestly, what rock was I living under?

I was not worthy of Seth's love. Even screwed up, were-wolf induced, I-will-have-babies-with-this-girl love. He deserved better then me.

And he _wouldn't _love me if it wasn't for the imprint. He had no reason to. If I was him, _I_ definitelywouldn't love me. He didn't really think my smile was okay, he didn't think that my stuttering was cute, or that the things I had to say were interesting... it was only his genes, telling him that. Trying to make up for the fact that his object of imprintation was so sucky, by telling him that the girl in front of him wasn't _actually_ a failure at life.

He would not love me if it weren't for the imprinting. It was like I got lucky, I drew the right card in life, which was him. That was the only reason. If it weren't for the imprinting, he would have never noticed me, and would've gone on to marry some pretty, talkative girl who finds the cure for cancer or something.

Shoot. I was crying. His object of imprintation was also a cry-baby.

Did he know about this? _Why _hadn't he ever told me?

It couldn't be true. It couldn't be true, wasn't real...

I think I was pre-menstrual. That was the only reason why I was crying so hard right now.

I stood up and walked across the room, taking shuddery, fragile breaths past thebig knot in my throat. What did this mean? I could not imagine a life without Seth.

I think I would rather die.

But what was there to do? He never told me about this. He tried to hide it from me... and I couldn't stay with him, could I? Not when I finally knew. I would have to leave. To break the rope, gnaw on it with my teeth if I had to.

We couldn't do this. I didn't deserve it. He deserved better. Imprinting was stupid. I should just leave, just leave right now.

And do what, Bailey? Live on the streets, get a job at McDonald's? Right. Great plan.

I needed to talk to Seth.

The thought made me cry harder. God, I loved him. Loved him _so much_.

I picked up the phone from where it lay on the ground after I had thrown it there after reading the message again after Ian told me everything. The smiley face was so fake. It was mocking me. "I love you." Liar. Not really.

He was on my speed dial. I didn't remember doing that; I think he did when he programmed in his number to my phone. It rang five times. Each ring I would pray he would pick up, my body seeming to stretch with the need to hear his voice, and with every silence afterward I prayed for the opposite.

Please. Please let me have one more night believing that what we had was real.

The phone clicked, my heart stopped, and then Seth's voice was there, the only thing that was sure in my life. Well. Not anymore.

"Hey, Bail. What's up? You okay?"

Bail. He called me Bail. Only Ian ever called me Bail.

What was it I was so worried about? Nothing important, I'm sure. Nothing Seth couldn't fix.

"I..."

I remembered. Crap. The tears started to pool in my eyes again. Why had I called him? I squeezed my eyes, and the salt water ploppped out of my eyes. One drop dripped down my cheek, then fell and landed on my foot. I curled my toes. This was a bad idea.

"Are you okay?"

No.

"Mh-hm."

It was sick, but I was stalling. I just needed a few more minutes of hearing him before I broke what we had.

There was a pause while I rocked back and forth on my heels. I pictured his face, his smile. Burned it into my brain so I would never forget. I cried harder.

"Okay... are you sure? I mean, it's like, 1:00..."

I looked at the clock. 1:04 in the morning. Huh. I hadn't noticed.

"Not that I mind. I wasn't gonna answer but then I saw it was you and Sam let me phase back. What's up?"

"Um. I just- I- um, I just wanted to... talk."

Another pause.

"...all right. We can talk. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Uh-huh."

"Did something happen? Do you need me? I can come over. I mean, I'de much rather be with you then stuck with the pack."

"No, no... I- um. Um. I just wanted..." My voice broke.

"Are you crying?"

...

"The reception sucks. I can't tell. Please talk to me. What's going on?"

...

I was trying to talk. I really, truly was. The wall was back with menace. How much worse would it get when Seth was gone?

Gone. Oh my God.

Soon Seth would be gone.

The numbers on the phone stuck to my face, the little crevices pooling with tears. My knuckles were white, fingers pressed hard to the phone.

"Oh my God. Okay. You are. Tell me what's going on."

...

"God dammit it, Bailey, talk to me! Okay. Oh my God. I'm coming, I'm coming to your house right now. I'm coming, just hold on, okay? If you're being attacked or something, just-just- I'll be there soon. It's okay. I'm coming."

"No."

The word slipped out. There was silence on the other end. There was a little whole in the wall, a little dyke with no finger to plug it up. I could not do this. I loved him to much.

"Imprinting." More silence. I slid down the wall to sit on the floor, running my hand through the pink carpet. "You- you im- imprint. Imp- imprinted. On... on- on me." My voice was so shaky that I could hardly even understand myself. It wasn't silent anymore. I could heard his breathing on the other end of the line. I let my legs flop out in front of me and made a fist, pressing it against them. I curled over, spine pressing against the wall. I think I was sobbing.

Why was this so hard?

"Who told you that?"

I forced the words out. Forced them.

"I... do... not... want you. To come."

His breathing grew louder. "Bail-"

"I... want... you... to go away. Please go away."

There was a crash, a noise like something was choking, harried voices in the background.

I loved him so much.

"Bailey. You-"

I hung up.

And sobbed.


	30. Seth Shaped Walls

**I got an overwhelmingly awesome response to the last chapter. That was the first time I ever got in the twenties for reviews in only one chapter. So...um...**

**I LOVE YOU! **

It was a beautiful day in La Push.

My cat was enjoying the rare beams of sunlight coming in through the open window, warming up the wooden floors. It was summer. The bird were all hustle-and-bustle. They were making a racket to wake the dead outside of my window. The air had lost the usual grey, wet smell that accompanied the rain. Instead, it smelled like fresh grass and dew drops. And sunshine. And happiness. Happy, happy, happy, birds and sunshine...

Shut up, Bailey. Just shut the hell up. You're not helping anything.

It was not even seven in the morning, and I was miserable. I woke up and shlupped out of bed, not really thinking about anything. I had this vague kind of cloud over my brain that something horrible had happened, but I chalked it up to a bad dream. Except I had this weird feeling it had to do with Seth. "Bad" and "Seth" didn't mix.

Never the matter, I got up and immediately tripped over a pile of clothes and knocked over a lamp which knocked over a mirror that I decided not to pick up and ended up tripping over again.

I also got a nice look at myself in that mirror.

My eyelashes were all sticky and dried together, framing the very unfortunate image of red, watery, silt colored eyes. My face was blotchy, and the clothes from yesterday that I was still wearing were wrinkled and didn't smell too great. My hair was still pulled into a half-ponytail from yesterday. Half of the hair pulled out frizzily in pieces and stuck out at the ears.

I stared at myself in the mirror for a little, kind of horrified. I looked sick. I felt sick. Tired and cold and with a stuffed up nose. I ached. A bone deep, thick inky blue, lazy ache that started in my chest and seemed to pool out into every blood vessel.

God, I was _tired_.

And my cellphone was on the floor. Why the heck was my cell phone on the floor? That thing cost me a good ten dollars at Verizon, you know. I should really drag myself over and pick it-

Oh my Gosh. Phone. Phone call. PhonecallimprintingIanIhungu pchokingnoiseSethSETH.

"Oh my God." My voice rose at the end, dipping into crying territory, and I dropped the phone like it had burst into flames. I pressed my hands to my face, backing up so quickly that I slammed into the wall. I could feel my eyebrows puckering, throat burning.

I remembered. Ian told me that Seth imprinted on me. I cried, called him, was an asshole, hung up, then cried some more. Did I do that? Did I really do that?

_I...Want...You...to go away. Please go away._

Oh my gosh I did. I_ did_ say that.

Even now, the words burned my throat. They had claws, and they weren't letting go.

I heard myself making a noise somewhere between a cry and a whimper. They hurt, but not as much as I loved Seth.

But that was why I said it, didn't I? That was why I broke up with him. "Broke up." That doesn't seem right. "Tore myself apart at the seams and put my beating muscle through a garbage disposal." That was more like it.

I did it because I loved him. Because he deserved more then me, because he deserved to actually _fall in love _with a girl. He deserved it... and I deserved it. I deserved it at the opposite end of the spectrum. You only deserved love if you worked for it, right? Fairy-tale, honey-coated, poof! You're in love! Daffodils and sunshine! love didn't really exist. You needed to _work _for it. You needed to find out things about each other, have those first beginning awkward conversations. You needed to have traits that were worth loving, you needed to find somebody that was truly compatible with you, somebody that you would fight with and make-up with and have make-up sex with and truly _love_.

Me and Seth missed all of that. We had a Daffodil Love. And daffodils shrivel up and DIE.

It wasn't his fault.

It hurt like hell.

But that was the truth.

I needed to move on.

The only problem? One day in-no, seven hours in- and I was miserable. Only seven _freaking _hours. I would never get over Seth. I would see his height in strangers on the street, his smile in some random waiter, his favorite food at the grocery store. And each time I would be reminded him it would be like running a knife over a cut that was already open and festering.

I knew this as surely as I knew that the sun was shining. As surely as I knew that hookers and pretzel sticks don't mix.

Which is to say: I might as well just go ahead and die now, because it was all a rocky, muddy, uphill battle from here.

I tried to stand up, but the action seemed to take to much effort. I sat there for a little while, then finally shoved myself off of the wall and onto all floors, then eventually stood up. I slammed the window closed and caught my finger, then proceeded to cuss at it and walk out of the room.

"Sorry," I muttered a minute later, coming back in to close the window properly. "It wasn't your fault." I absently ran my hand over the inanimate object, then walked out of the room again.

The floorboards creaked underneath me. Like they were protesting my weight on them. Either that, or the sunshine that was burning into the house. Everything was quiet, and I suspected that Ian was already at work. Ian. I should really be angry at him, but it wasn't _his _fault. He wanted me to be happy. That was why he told me.

Peachy plan, bro!

You know what I needed right now?

A big jar of hot fudge sauce. And a spoon.

That's right. I'll eat myself into oblivion. Great plan. Just make it into the kitchen. It'll be okay, drown the images of Seth in 300 calorie-per-tablespoon, sticky goodness. There was the kitchen right there, just a few more steps, and then you'll-oh, oh... crap. My mom was there.

I ducked back behind the corner of the hallway, cringing.

I just did not want to deal with her right now. She would be going to work soon. I would just hide from her until then, then I could cry and eat and watch videos of butterflies without anybody putting their nose in my own damn business.

A tear dribbled into the net of stuck-together eyelashes.

My mother popped out from behind the corner, then stopped abruptly, her briefcase filled with pages of blank paper continuing and swinging forward to hit me in the stomach. We stared at each other for a little. I considered slinking back up the steps.

"Hello."

"Hi mom."

"You look... not good."

"My boyfriend broke up with me." Whatever. Something along those lines. She would lose interest soon enough.

She laughed, a quick spasm of laughter that sent the briefcase standing into my gut again. She was standing uncomfortably close. I backed away a step.

"Of course, honey!"

"What?"

"No boys want to date girls who don't look not good."

I was about to die. "Love you too, mom."

"What? I never said..." She trailed off, then walked past me, looking confused. She stopped abruptly, dropped the briefcase, then turned around on her heel, bumping into me and not apologizing. She reappeared with a pile of eggs on a glass plate.

"Eggs?"

I stared at them.

"For you. Here."

I took them from her. She stared at me, a stupid little smile on her face.

"Thank you. Mom."

"Of course. Off to work! Get some... get some..." She waved her hands vaguely at me. "Get some work done. Do something. Have fun!"

And then she walked away, out the door, leaving it wide open.

The image of the sun greeted me, perfectly centered in the doorway, pooling on top of the horizon of the trees. The sun burned, but the wind was cold. I moved forward to close the door. It was swung all the way open, resting on the outside of the house. I contemplated whether it was worth getting my socks wet on the condensation that had gathered on the porch. Decided that I didn't really care.

When I stepped out onto the porch, two things happened.

The first was that there was a doll, sitting directly to the right of the doorway, its back resting on the side of our house. Bigger then a Barbie, but one of those dolls that had unplausibly perfect features and could be fourteen years old or thirty years old. With a fake, hard, plastic smile on its face, it was a doll that looked perfectly friendly in the morning, but threatened to come alive and kill you in the nighttime.

I bent down. There was a note attached. I picked up the note, careful not to touch the doll.

_From dad. He wanted you to have this... to apologize? I know. WTF. I didn't want to wake you up. We'll talk later. Are you mad?_

_-Ian_

_ps Please don't be mad at me._

The second thing was that, when I finished reading the note and saw "dad" and connected it with the doll and was about to turn around and puke into the bushes, I slammed into a wall.

A hot, solid wall. A wonderful wall. A painful wall.

I slammed into Seth.


	31. I Think I'm Dying

**To Epicgirl180, who asked me how many views this has, at the time that I am writing this it has 37, 674 total views. To Eliza, sorry! I hope this helps. To the guest who suggested I have her dad come and attack her and then have her run, all crying and scared and stuff, into Seth's arms... Well, something along those lines. Except I can confidentally say it is NOT going to be what you expect. To the rest of you... am I being redundant? Thank you with all of the miniscule pieces of my heart for reading!**

**I realize that after this chapter you guys will probably be ready to smack me, and it seems like I am taking one step forward and two step back... but I PROMISE it is all in the game plan.**

**Enjoy! :)**

I jumped back in surprise, my hands flying up as if to ward him off.

And there he was.

It was painfully similar to the first time he showed up at my doorstep. The memory sent a lance of pain that made me jerk back again. Remember how happy you were when you first saw him standing there, Bailey? Remember? And I was still happy. Surprised and very scared and regretful, but still happy. He made me feel safe.

His arms hung loosely at his side, having dropped there after they came up to keep me from falling back when I ran into him. He was wearing jeans cut-offs and a flannel tee-shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was open, and fluttered loosely in the wind. My eyes stayed glued to the bare spot of his chest that I had just face-planted into. Partly because I could tell by the slope of his shoulders that he was hurting and I was the one who hurt him, and partly because the clean line of his pecs were probably one of the most delicious things I had ever seen.

You see what you're going to lose, Bailey? Do you think you'll ever find Seth's equal in upper-body muscle?

I heard his intake of breath, like he was about to say something, but it stayed silent. The wind blew loose pieces of my hair into my mouth, and I left them there. My body was frozen.

And I was fully intending on staying just like that until he gave up and went away, or until the Washington snow blew in and covered me up. But then his voice came out of nowhere, as focused as I was on not moving a muscle.

"I didn't think you were the type to get drunk, Bailey."

My eyes snapped up to his. _I wasn't drunk, _I wanted to say. _What are you talking about? Whatever. I don't care. I love you. _

His eyebrows were drawn together in a way that seemed far too permanent. Charcoal smudges beneath his eyes made it look like he hadn't gotten to sleep in a month, and his face was too gaunt and eyes too dark. They swirled with something. It looked like pain. But I didn't want to flatter myself.

The expression on his face caught me off guard. It was so alien to the usual picture of happiness that I actually could have mistaken him for a different person. There was a nagging sense of deja-vu, and I realized that it was because I _had _seen this face before, just not on him. On myself. That morning as I looked into the mirror.

His mouth was slightly open, like he wanted to say something more. Instead his eyes traced over my face, searching for something. His hands twitched, like they wanted to reach out...

That was when I came to my senses.

No.

I held my breath, ripped my eyes away from his, and turned on my heel. The fact that the doll was still tightly clutched in my hand barely registered as I slammed the door. The whole house seemed to shutter. The blinds were closed, and my eyes stayed glued to the doorknob as my hands blindly groped along the bureau near the drawer for the keys. I fumbled with them, my whole body shaking too much to be effective in anything.

I finally locked the door with a fatal-sounding _click_.

There was no noise on the other side.

I wheeled my body around, suddenly feeling dizzy, and collapsed into a pile of laundry laid out on the floor. It was still warm, just pulled out of the dryer.

Warm. Just like Seth.

"God_, _why am I such an _idiot_?"

I stared at the doll as I said it, my voice ringing out clear through the house. _I don't know,_ I could just imagine her saying. _Why _are _you such an idiot? _

I made a face at the doll.

The door was still silent. I would not think about Seth's face right now. I would not think about my life without him. This was what I wanted, and I made the right choice by shutting that door and locking it in his face.

I gritted my teeth and balled my hands, one hand tightening into a choke-hold around the doll's neck.

This. Is. What. I. Freaking. _Want! _

The words meant nothing. Trying to tell myself that I did not want to Seth was like trying to tell my heart to stop beating or trying to tell a lamp to grow legs and make you a hummus sandwich.

_You've done it now, Bailey_, the doll said, her plasticky face utterly delighted. _You're screwed. __He's gone, you're dead, dead, dead..._

There was an odd crunching noise in the doorway. My head swung around so fast that I almost gave myself whiplash. It was quiet. My eyebrows came together, my eyes searching the room, all of the windows... could it be our old retarded refrigerator? But I could've sworn it came from the-

There it was again. A crunch, kind of a grinding. And then the door shook slightly, the blinds banging against the glass pains. A second later the doorknob dropped to the floor, leaving a circular hole in the wood.

My eyes and mouth were wide open, staring at the door in shock.

The door opened. Seth entered my house, swinging open the door all the way like he hadn't just broken the metal locks with his bare hands. I didn't dare look at his face.

He walked casually into the kitchen, and I couldn't help but notice how _absurdly _tall he was, towering over me from my view point on the ground. But then he eased himself to the floor so he was sitting next to me, legs out in front of him and seeming to stretch the length of my body. He sat a couple inches farther away then he normally would have. The space between us ached.

He sighed.

I stared in front of me.

It was quiet. I held onto the silence.

"So. I received a very worrying phone call last night." I winced, letting my eyes drop closed. My hands were tightening in spasms, but the rest of my body seemed to be iced in place.

"And I _know _that it was just the result of you drinking or something, because even though I totally thought that you weren't that type of girl, there's obviously no other reason why I would've gotten a call like that. Right, Bailey?"

His voice was cynical, like he was just saying this just for my benefit. He knew I wasn't drunk.

"And you don't need to explain or anything, I just came here to make sure that you you're okay. And that _we're _okay."

His voice lost the negativity near the end, becoming gentler. I could see that the anger was just a mask that he was putting on; anger didn't come easily to Seth, and he was fighting a losing battle.

I could tell he was looking at me.

I did not answer his question.

I sniffed, and said the first thing that came to my mind.

"You-you _broke_ our lock."

He laughed once. Maybe not a laugh, because it held absolutely no humor. More of a bark. How appropriate.

"You _broke _my heart."

I swallowed thickly.

Time to say it, Bailey. Time to just spew it out, rip the band-aid off in one piece. Let it slosh out into the open.

"You im-i-_imprinted _on me."

"Who told you that?" His voice was a growl, and I shuddered back.

"Nobody."

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

"It's not important."

"It sure as hell is."

"Well, I- I'm not gonna tell you, so just-just don't ask."

He sighed again, much closer now, because I could feel the heat of his breath across my cheekbone. He smelled nice. Like Old Spice and the forest and the evening in September. He picked up one of my hands, not the one wrapped around the doll, and took it in his. Though his touch sent a rush of tingles all through my body, I let my hand flop there like a dead fish.

You do not deserve Seth, Bailey.

Shut the hell up, Bailey.

"Fine. So what if I did? Why does it matter?"

I wanted to snatch my hand back, to not let him touch me, but it didn't respond.

"Why does that matter?" I squeaked, repeating him disbelievingly.

"Yes. Why do you care so much?"

"Because-because- you lied to me." I know I was being stupid, even as I said it. I was just stalling, because I had to remember all of those reasons why I cared so much that Seth had imprinted on me.

"No, I didn't," he said slowly, like he was talking to a child. He wrapped both of his hands around my one, enveloping it in heat. "I have and will never lie to you."

"But you didn't tell me. Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged. _He shrugged_. He was such a boy. He had no idea how much I was dying over here.

"Because I was worried _this _would happen."

"So-so what? Were you never going to tell me?"

"I was. Once we were... farther along. A couple of months, maybe. But it's not like that, Bailey. I mean, I didn't think it was a big deal... it doesn't change anything."

"Doesn't change anything?" I finally turned to look at him, regaining control of my hand and drawing it in one sharp movement back to my chest. He stared at his open hands for a second, looking pitifully sad, then met my gaze.

"Seth. Seth, it changes _everything_!"

He laughed again, a sad kind of laugh that pulled down at the corners of his eyes. "No it doesn't, Bailey. I still love you just the same."

Ah. That was the problem. I remembered now.

"But-" I sniffed, "But you wouldn't if it wasn't for the imprinting."

"Yes I would."

"No, you-"

"I love you, Bailey. I love _you_. Not the imprinting. I don't love your face, I like the expressions on it. Not your words, but what you mean when you say them. That's all _you _Bailey, imprinting doesn't change you. And it doesn't change about how I would feel about you, either." He talked calmly, slowly.

If I was standing up, I would've stomped my foot. He didn't understand.

"Yes, but you wouldn't lo- love... all of that stuff if it weren't for the imprinting. Even if you _do _l-lo-l-" I took a deep breath. My words were becoming garbled. I started talking again, slower, forcing the words to come out the way I wanted them to. "Even if you _do _love all of that stuff about me, it's not because they- or _I _am anything special. It's because of the imprinting." I sniffed again. But I wasn't crying. Hear that, Bailey? You are NOT going to cry. "And if you never imprinted on me, then you never would have-"

"You're wrong. Imprinting made me get to know you, not fall in love with you. And if I had gotten to know you sooner, then I see no reason why I wouldn't have loved you just as much."

He said the words simply, like they just made perfect sense to him.

"No." My voice was coming out gargled, choked. What was up with this weird wetness in my eyes? "No. You're just saying that. You're just saying that because you imprinted on me, or because you're just trying to make me feel better, or because-because-"

I took a shuddery breath in.

In books, isn't there a point where the main character says something like, "I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come out anymore?"

He made a pained noise in the back of his throat, something like a groan, and tried to take my hand again. I stood up and walked out of his reach. That noise again.

"You're _killing_ me, Bailey."

I stayed silent, determined that it would be better if I never said anything ever again. I would become mute.

When I looked back up, one hand was pressed over his eyes, mouth pressed into a hard line.

"Listen," he said abruptly, putting his hands down and pushing them of the ground. He moved towards me. "Sam and Emily, they fight. So do Kim and Jared, and Quil... well, not really Quil, but that's 'cause Claire's too young."

I crossed my arms and took a step back. He stopped abruptly, seeing that I wasn't exactly being receptive. He rubbed the back of his neck. "But they always get back together. Always. So... can't we just, kind of, stop fighting? Because there's no use. I mean, I get you're mad and stuff, but it would be really saving ourselves a lot of trouble if we just skipped-"

I whipped my hands down to my sides, balled into fists. Now I was angry. He just _didn't get it._ He was brushing off everything I just said, suggesting we "skip over it"- what the hell does that mean? And move on with our lives.

"You-You- You're so narcotic!"

He had started to move towards me again, but stopped, looking confused. "What?"

Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Way to ruin a moment, Bailey.

"I- I meant narcissistic! You're so narcissistic!"

He was laughing, shaking his head. "Are you a Republican, Bailey? Is this why you're so hard to understand?"

"This is not a _joke!_"

He smile dropped. "Right. Sorry, I'm sorry. It's just- I mean- you can't really be doing this, Bailey." He was fighting a smile. "This is just stupid. We were meant for each other." He cocked his head, then added, "Literally."

There was silence throughout the whole house. No more birds.

"I hate you."

His whole body shook, shoulders jerking forward in pain like the words had literally electrocuted him.

"Go away." Tears were pouring down in streams.

He was shaking now, his whole body literally _shaking_. His eyes held so much pain that I could not look at them because I felt like they woudl burn a whole right through my skin. He set his face in a kind of determination that I had never seen before.

"No."

"Go away," I repeated.

"I just told you-"

"_Go away_! I don't love you, you don't love me! Just stop trying to damn hard, Seth!"

Silence in the house again. Except this time, I could hear him breathing from across the room.

In.

Out.

In.

He slowly shook his head.

"No. You don't understand. You don't understand anything."

"Then explain it to me, Seth!" My chest shook with a sob, voice ragged in desperation.

"That's what I've been trying to do ever since I met you!"

His voice was too loud. Too loud, I was afraid. I pressed my hands to my face, and I realized that I was shaking. My whole body was trembling like a leaf.

And you know what the sickest thing was?

Even now, I knew the only thing that could help would be for Seth to wrap me up in his arms.

"I don't understand," I whispered.

"Then I'll tell it to you again. I love you. Nothing else matters. I love you enough that if it made you happy for me to go away, then I would, even though that would _literally _be the hardest thing in the world."

"Then why haven't you left?"

"Because I know that's not really what you want."

"Yes it is."

"_Fine._ Then I will. I'll leave. But it's not gonna be some dramatic break-up scene, Bailey, because tomorrow I'm gonna be back."

"No you won't. You'll-you'll realize how stupid this is."

"I already do. This is all really stupid. I don't even know _why _we're fighting, because-"

He could probably tell that I was ready to scream at him, because he closed the distance between us in one stride, putting his hand behind my neck so that I was looking up at him.

I went rigid.

"I hate to break it to you, Bailey, but whether you like it or not, I'm always gonna come back." He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "Not to be Stalker Seth, but every single day for the rest of your life, I will be waiting on your doorstep. And I'm never going to give up. Do you understand that? Because I don't think you do."

I stared at him, my eyes wide. "Why?"

That one word made him look sadder then anything I had ever seen. Tears were drowning the top hem of my shirt.

"Because I love you."

...

"No."

...

I closed my eyes. "I can't. I can't, I can't, I can't..." I can't do this. He doesn't- but he said-but I can't-

I think I'm dying.

"Go away."

His hand slowly slid from my neck back to his side. He looked resigned.

"Fine."

"Fine."

"I'll go."

"Fine."

"See you tomorrow."

"No you won't. I'll run away."

"I'll find you."

"Go."

He turned away, started walking out the door.

"No. Wait. Come back."

He turned back.

"Nevermind. Go away."

He left.


	32. No FREAKING Way

"Ian, where are you..."

It was 6:23. His shift started as 6:00. He had never been _this _late before. Probably visiting his dad again or something else equally retarded.

Honestly, how could he do this to me? He knew first-hand how mind-numbingly boring it was to work this job alone. We never had any customers. So what was I supposed to do, stare at the rain and get fat on pork rinds? He was the only reason that I was surviving this job.

Well, now that I thought about it, the only reason why I was surviving life in general.

I pressed my forehead to the counter, inhaling deeply the scent of whatever crap had passed over the linoleum. Seth was fighting with Bailey. I didn't know about what, didn't care about what, but-

The bells on the door jingled. My head snapped up.

"Hey."

Ian stood in the doorway. I smiled.

"Hey, you." Thus was the effect he had on me, I had to do my best not to giddily freaking _skip_ over to where he was standing my the doorway. I frowned when I got closer,slapping down my hand onto his chest with a wet sounding _thunk_. "You're all wet."

"If you haven't noticed, it's _raining_."

"What, did you walk from your house?"

"That is precisely what I did."

"It's called a_ car_, asshole."

"It's called I'm only _fourteen_, idiot."

I smiled. Scrunched my hand up so that the t-shirt was caught up in my fist, bringing him closer to me.

"_Almost _fifteen. Let's not forget."

"Right. Because kissing a fourteen year old is gross, but kissing a fifteen year old..."

"Perfectly acceptable. Now come here."

He smiled, coming close enough that our foreheads were touching. I snaked my hand up his shirt and around his neck, my hand sliding on the cold rainwater on his skin. The cold felt good. After Sam... I couldn't get enough of the cold. I pressed myself to him. Exhaled, teasing him, brushing my lips just over his, so light that it tickled. I giggled.

He rolled his eyes. Wrapped his hands around my waist. "Please," he said, his voice rumbling through his chest and into me. "You're getting school-girl on me."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Give me some... some _wolf_."

I laughed. He wanted wolf? Oh, I could do wolf...

My teeth were bared and I grabbed his lower lip, and he reacted almost violently. Hands pressing, bodies glued together, my shirt was getting wet. I traced his lips with my tongue. Our mouths moved over each other's in a harsh rhythm and I could hear myself make a noise that sounded like a growl. I lifted up my knee, nudging it against his thigh hard enough that it knocked both of us so we were against the wall.._._

I opened my eyes just long enough to make sure we hadn't crushed any cigarette packets (one of the problems with making out in a gas station), and that was when I actually looked at him for the first time. It might've just been because we were so close, but was the darkness under his eyes always so pronounced? Did he always look this pale?

He could feel me go unresponsive in his arms, and backed up, panting, looking at me with wide eyes.

I traced the smudges underneath his eyes. He flinched at first, but then relaxed into my hand.

"What?" He asked after a minute.

"You look tired."

He abruptly turned away, taking his hands back and readjusting his t-shirt.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, come on. You don't have to do that. I'm just saying... You look tired."

He shrugged. "Yeah."

I rolled my eyes. Typical male.

"_Why _are you tired?"

He sighed, hesitating for a second before coming back to where I was standing, leaning against the wall. He did the same, coming to stand a couple inches to my right.

I glared down at the space between us, then closed it. Rested my head on his soggy shoulder. It was nice.

"Problems," he muttered.

"With what?"

"My sister."

"Right. Sister Miss-No-Name. I know you're uber-protective and everything, but I'm really not going to kill her, no matter how wimpy she is. Can I at least know her name?"

Ian smiled a little bit, and hooked his finger in the belt loop of my jeans, tugging it slightly so that I was closer to him. "Yeah. I guess so. Her name is Bailey."

I tensed.

Wait.

No... it couldn't be...

It couldn't be Seth's Bailey, right? No. No, of course not. Life wasn't that cruel. I let him continue.

"And she's fighting with her her boyfriend, and is all depressed and stuff... well, I'm sure you've heard about it."

"I've... what? Heard about them fighting? No..."

"Really? I mean, it's Seth..."

I jerked my head off of his shoulder, a sick feeling all of a sudden making itself known in my stomach. I took a step back.

"What?"

"Her boyfriend. Seth. Did you not know that?"

My mouth fell open. I cursed.

"What? What's wrong?"

This was _so _not happening...

"Bailey... Bailey Clera is your sister?"

"Yeah."

"But... but you didn't tell her about... about what I told you, right?"

"What?"

"About the werewolves! Imprinting! All of that stuff!" I explained desperately, throwing my hands up, my voice grating against the cement-block walls. Ian took a step back, putting his hands up defensively.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down-"

"No! Ian, I'm not gonna-" I stopped myself and took a shaky deep breath, putting my hands in my face for a couple seconds. Okay. I needed to calm down. I gritted my teeth, looking back up, talking slowly. Ian looked at me with confused eyes, shaking his head slightly.

"About the wolves? I mean, she already knew... was she not supposed to know that? I mean, I didn't break my promise or anything, she already knew about-"

I held up my hands to stop him. "Yeah. I mean, no. I mean... I don't care about what she knows about the wolves. But, you didn't tell her about the... about imprinting, did you? Right?"

His eyebrows drew down. My heart squeezed.

"Of course I told her. I mean, she had a right to know that Seth was using her."_  
_

Everything seemed to spin around me in a whir of red-tinted colors. It was suddenly quite hard to breathe, and all I could think about was what I had felt when I was in wolf form. Of what I had felt of his love. Of the love for Bailey that Seth had that was so strong that it almost hurt him, of how he was planning on marrying her when he turned twenty, how excited he was, even at fifteen, of the possibility of spending the rest of his life with her...

And now they were fighting, and Bailey was actually Ian's freaking _sister_, and he told her all that crap I said about imprinting in a fit of PMS induced madness...

WHY did life hate me this much?

"Oh, hell."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Oh hell, oh hell, oh hell, oh _hell _no..."

"_Leah_. What is going on?"

I laced my hands and put them behind my head, starting to pace back and forth across the doorway. I could... I could apologize. Seth would be pissed, but I could apologize to him, explain things to Bailey, things would be all right... assuming Bailey even believed Ian. I mean, she couldn't be that stupid, right? She believed Seth all those times he said he loved her?

"I... I have to go, Ian. I have to do something."

"I am _not _letting you leave this building until you explain what is going on."

I blew a frustrated breath of air out my nose. How was I supposed to explain this to him?

I swallowed hard. "Okay... um... so, all of that stuff I told you about imprinting?"

His face changed as he detected something in my voice. I noticed that scar on his face again.

"Um, so... that's not all... strictly true," I continued sheepishly.

Ian stared at me.

"I mean, imprinting is true. But not... um. A lot of the other stuff."

A beat of silence, too long. Ian's eyes were still glued to me, disbelieving, filled with so much tension that it seemed to weigh down the air.

"So you lied to me," he finally said.

"Well-"

"Did you lie to me?"

"I don't think-"

"_Yes or no_."_  
_

"Seth loves Bailey," I blurted before he could interrupt me again. "He's not using her. That stuff... Imprinting probably _is _because of the whole reproduction factor or whatever, but it's only if the girl wants it. He's not-it's not- it's not as bad as I made it sound. Imprinting."

"So you _did _lie to me."

"Listen, I really have to fix this whole mess, so-"

"The whole mess that _you _made!"

"What? Why-"

"If you-"

"_Stop interrupting me!_"

We stared at each other, both of us with our fists balled, leaning towards each other in anger. I was shaking. I just wanted to talk to Seth. I needed to fix this.

"Do you have _any _idea what you just did, Leah?" Ian finally said.

I didn't answer.

"I told Bailey all of the stuff that you told me. All of the _crap _that you spewed out to me. And now she's angry at _me _and she's angry at Seth and they're fighting, and of course she's going to blame it on me, when I was really just trying to help her, but because you're such a friggin' _jackass__-"_

I turned around and walked out the door. I attempted to slam it on him in the middle of his rant, but it had one of those retarded hydraulic systems and just made a soft hissing noise.

I could not deal with this right now. Ian was being unfair. _He _had never dealt with imprinting first-hand, had he?

The door opened a second later.

"Fine!" He shouted into the rain. "Go run out like that! What are you gonna do now, Leah? Go lie some more? Go-"

"I can't deal with you right now, Ian." I started to turn, ready to phase the minute I hit the woods.

"You're so _mean_."

I froze.

"Be honest, Leah. Are you even sorry? You're probably happy that Bailey's crying right now."

I gritted my teeth. "I am going to try to _fix _this, Ian."

"Right. You'll probably just screw it up more."

"Don't I always?" I muttered. He shouted something more into the rain, but I was already off running.


	33. Just So Sorry

**Leah POV. I know, I know, we all want Seth/Bailey… but this chapter is really important, and it would've messed up the flow of the story to make it Bailey POV. Not to mention depriving you guys of yet another cliffy! ;)**

** I am hereby promising to update again sometimes over the Labor Day Holiday, because it's the least I can do after my failure to update the last three days.**

** Enjoy! Well. Kind of. It's a sad chapter. **

** (oh, and thanks so much to the Guest who I'm assuming was the same person, who actually reviewed pretty much every chapter! I have to say, I'm impressed, and so thankful for your kind words!)**

I skidded to a halt at the edge of the forest skirting my house.

I was still a wolf, and I lingered in that form, not wanting to phase back and welcome the problems that accompanied being a human. Everything was just so _easy _when I was a wolf. Especially now, when there was nobody else trying to share the space in my brain with their thoughts.

The only sounds I could hear were the panting of my own breath and the comforting rustles of the forest behind me. The house seemed empty, a problem that I hadn't anticipated. I expected this to be easy—find Seth, apologize, everybody's happy. If Seth wasn't angry with me, then he could explain it to Bailey. No need to take a visit with the overdramatic pipsqueak that she was if it wasn't necessary.

But if Seth wasn't even _here_…

A surge of panic suddenly spiked in my brain. I could tell that he wasn't a wolf _now_, but what if he phased before I could get to him?

It was fairly easy for me to keep some things hidden in my brain. Everybody in the pack assumed that I was always thinking about Sam's betrayal just because I was a stubborn bitch who couldn't get over it. True, but there was more to it- if I focus and keep my brain on that, then it was possible for me to hide other things.

Like the fact that I thought about killing myself when Sam left.

Or that I missed Emily, maybe more then I missed Sam.

Or that there was this really special almost-fifteen year-old boy who I told my secret to.

But if Seth phased, he would no doubt be obsessing about Bailey. And if he was already thinking about her, then my thoughts were at extreme risk of getting mixed up with his, my mental wall crashing down…

And what would happen then?

The _whole _pack would know what was going on. They would know I told Ian everything.

And then what?

I would be screwed beyond belief.

Just thinking about the rage that this would induce in Sam, my wolfy flank shuddered. Point blank: I needed to find Seth. Now.

I turned back to the house. Though I couldn't see color, my eyes picked up the sharp edges and varying shades of grey that my house was. I could tell that there weren't any lights on in the house, a fact that worried me. Oh well. I would check the house for Seth nonetheless. Maybe grab a snack while I was at it.

I closed my eyes – the abrupt change in vision and color between forms was dizzying – and relaxed, focusing on my last human thoughts and feelings. As per usual, I immediately felt power draining from my limbs, my body crushing into itself, foreign wind brushing against my hairless, naked skin.

Sigh.

It sucks to be human.

I threw on some clothes that I kept stashed behind a helpful tree. It wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world- the jeans were too small and I got dirt all down my bra, but I didn't care. Hopefully I wouldn't be human for long.

The grass poked into my bare feet as I crossed our lawn. Mom should really make Seth mow this sometime soon.

As I expected, nobody greeted me when I entered the house. Two months ago, on a Sunday afternoon, I would've probably walked in on my dad, sorting his fishing lures on the coffee table in the living room. Football would be blaring on the TV screen. Mom would be wearing an apron and flitting around by the stove, making spaghetti. Seth might be watching Shark Week or laying on his back on the couch, throwing a ball to the ceiling and letting it drop back to him.

Now dad was dead.

And the house was quiet.

Too quiet, actually. Creepy. Especially with all of the lights off. It wasn't like there were no windows, but the clouds right now were so dark and heavy I wondered how they kept themselves up in the sky.

I flicked on the hallway light and stamped through the house to the kitchen. I wasn't going to bother checking upstairs for my brother- might as well just grab an apple or something then leave to look for him somewhere else.

I scowled.

Of course. The one time I actually _want _to see Seth, he's nowhere to be found.

I reached the kitchen, but instead of grabbing a jar of peanut butter and leaving, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Um.

"Seth?"

The figure that I assumed to be Seth, slumped over on a dining room chair, grunted out an uncomprehendable answer.

I glanced around the room, not sure what I was expecting to see.

"Uh… watcha doin'?"

"What do you want, Leah?" His voice was hard to understand, strained and muffled as it was from behind his hands.

I swallowed. I got the feeling that he probably wasn't up for a heart-to-heart at the moment. All the same… when have I ever cared about other people's feelings?

"To talk to you, actually." My voice sounded too hard. "If you… if this is the right time, I mean," I added.

Seth didn't answer.

I let out a frustrated burst of air and strode to the other side of the room, flicking on a light switch. The harsh light filled the room. I gasped.

Seth was hunched over in one of the dining room chairs. Shoulders and head down, one hand covered his eyes. The other was stretched out in front of him on the table, absently making patterns in the wood.

Yes, the fact that my brother was sitting in a dark room doing nothing but looking desperately sad and defeated worried me slightly. What was more, though, was what was around him: ugly, splintered pieces of wood were strewn all over the kitchen floor. I could only assume they were once another chair, but now the pieces were indiscernible. Legs and arms ripped from the base, some torn into toothpick-sized pieces.

I swallowed hard.

"You… you _broke _a chair?"

He lifted his face abruptly from his hands, and just the expression there made me wince and draw back. His face looked _dark_. Angry, and desperate, and-

I looked away. Towards his hands, which had balled into fists.

"What do you _want _Leah?"

"This is important. Please don't act like an ass." I winced after I said it, after I heard the hardness in the words.

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. I could hear his sigh from across the room. I took it as an invitation to go on.

I said the one thing I knew would get his attention.

"It's about Bailey."

His chin jerked towards me at the mention of her name, almost what looked like involuntarily. He closed his eyes, but I could still see the pain written all over his face.

I raised my eyebrows.

"Would you like me to go on?"

"Is she okay?" He spoke through gritted teeth. I rolled my eyes. Of course – looking at the chair and at Seth, I could only suspect that the douche had just ripped his heart out. And yet, _still_, he's worried about her well-being.

Psh.

After Sam broke my heart, he could've gotten tuberculosis and died and I wouldn't have given a damn.

"Yeah. I mean, I think so."

Another silence. His eyes were still closed, but his fist was growing tighter- I could see the white of his knuckles through his skin.

Why was I here again?

Right. Apologize.

Hm… how to word this…

"Are you and Bailey fighting?"

His mouth and eyebrows twitched down.

"It's about the imprinting, isn't it?"  
He turned his face away, and for a moment I felt like smacking him. I'm doing the best I can, Seth. I'm actually _trying _to apologize. The least you could do is respond.

But then he stood. At full height, he had a good four inches on me. Fists still balled, shadows surrounding his eyes— all of that, coupled with this strange, intense _need _I had never seen in his eyes before now, sent a jolt of fear through me.

His face belonged to somebody who had never smiled once in their life.

But then his posture relaxed and his hands went limp and he looked away and he was _my_ Seth again.

He shook his head slowly, going over to stand by the counter. He grabbed onto the edge, peering out at the darkening sky.

"Yeah."

I waited.

"I just… I don't get it. I don't get it, Leah. What did I do wrong?"

I didn't say anything.

He turned back around to face me, pressing his hands to his temples.

"She kept saying that I didn't understand, I didn't understand… and I _don't_. I really don't. All of this crap she was saying about how I-" He paused, taking a deep breath. "About how I don't _love her_. I mean, how- how _stupid _is that? Did she was thinking I was lying this whole time?"

He stopped, and I opened my mouth to say something, but he started up again.

"And it's hard enough to get her to talk to me, even when she's not mad at me. I _know _when she's not telling me something, and it's just so _frustrating_, you know? Because the more I push her to tell me, the more she closes up. I feel like she doesn't trust me, which I just- do you have any idea how hard that is for me to understand?"

He dropped his hands, defeated, and looked at the ground.

A moment later, he continued.

"She said she hated me, Leah."

His voice was husky, low and so full of pain that my brain didn't even try to understand. I peered around at his face, half expecting to see tears there, but he just looked… dead.

Yeah.

This was definitely _not _the best time.

"Um. Yeah," I said. "That… that really sucks. And stuff. But… I think I might know part of why she's so angry at you."

His eyebrows lifted, his expression ridiculously hopeful. It felt like somebody was punching me in the chest.

"You do?"

"Uh. Yeah. See… well, it's complicated, okay? Like, really complicated." I stopped there, not sure how to proceed.

"If only I knew who told her…" he mumbled under his breath, more to himself then to me.

"Um… Yeah. It's about that. Who told her, I mean."  
He lifted his head to look at me, that same hopeful expression on his face. I don't know if it was because things just started clicking in his brain, or because he saw the guilty look that I was trying so hard to wipe off of my face, but pretty soon that expression was no more.

His face started transforming. Eyebrows pitched downwards, mouth forming a hard line.

A sick feeling started twisting in my gut.

He opened his mouth a couple times but closed it, like he just couldn't find the words.

I rushed to say something that would soften the blow.

"Like I said, it's complicated. I mean, I didn't know she would take it so bad- well, I didn't even know she was going to find out, but-"

"It was you, wasn't it?"

"- and I totally didn't mean it like the way I said it, I was just really angry, and-"

"_You _told her."

"- he promised he wouldn't tell, but he totally didn't understand what was going on-"

"Leah._ Shut. Up."_

His voice was so deadly serious that my mouth snapped closed like it was magnetized.

His chest was moving up and down visibly with each breath, hands opening and closing, grabbing for the air.

"You told her about the imprinting?" His voice was level but shaky, anger threatening to rip out.

"Yes," I whispered, suddenly feeling like I was going to cry. "Well- well, not her. Her brother."

"You told her brother. About imprinting. About us?"

I nodded once, biting my kip. I was determined to look tough, to not break down in tears in front of him. _I didn't mean to, I was just lonely, I just wanted somebody to understand_…

"Does Sam know?"

I shook my head.

"Do you- do you-" He broke off, voice breaking. He was looking at me like he couldn't honestly understand how his sister even deserved to live on this Earth.

My throat knotted.

"Leah. I could kill you. I could _kill _you right now!"

I sniffed. "Listen, Seth-"

"No! No, I'm not gonna listen! Do you have _any idea _how much you just royally jacked up everybody's lives?"

"I didn't-"

"It's not just Bailey, Leah! It's Ian! He'll tell somebody!"

"No! He-"

"The Volturi, Leah! They _kill _humans that know about them. Did you even think about that? Did hat fact even cross your mind while you were spewing every freaking secret we have-"

"I didn't tell him about the vampires! And- And I was lying, okay? I was really angry. I didn't mean it when I told him about how you were- you were _using _Bailey and all of that. I know you love her. I was lying."

He had been pacing before, almost tearing up the floor of the kitchen. He stopped now, midstep.

Turned slowly to face me. This was not my Seth. _My _Seth didn't look like he would kill me.

_"What?"_

I sniffed again, my throat so knotted that it actually hurt. I wanted things to be like they were before. I wanted Seth not to be angry with me, I wished I hadn't told Ian, I wish I wasn't a wolf- hell, if we were going back that far, I wish dad had never died.

"I didn't mean it when I told Ian that you were using Bailey. I didn't mean it, I didn't mean any of it."

I squeezed my eyes shut while the words came out, and when I opened them again Seth was leaning against the counter like he couldn't support his weight by himself.

He looked like he was going to be sick.

"Wait, did you…." No. Shit. Bailey didn't tell him about that, about how I falsely told Ian how sick I thought imprinting was…

"Why did you not tell me this before?" He sounded like somebody was strangling him.

"I- I mean, I was kind of assuming you knew… I thought Bailey told you…" My voice sounded meek, a little child trying to defend her decision to eat all of the cookies out of the cookie jar.

Seth was laughing now. Laughing horribly, humorlessly , like he just couldn't' believe it.

"You- you told her I was _using _her?"

"Well, I told Ian-"

"How- how could you- I can't- I- I _hate _you!"

"Seth..." I whispered.

"You ruined everything! _Everything_! You know- _you know_- I would never do _anything _to hurt her. I can't live without her- you know that!"

"I know, but-"  
"Nobody cares about you anymore, Leah. Okay? Get over yourself! Nobody cares about you and Sam and your little petty problems that you won't get over. This is the sickest way of getting attention I have _ever _seen."

"I'm not trying to get attention!"

"Do you always lie? Were you always such a shitty person? You- you're _horrible_! I can't even-"

"_I'm sorry!"_

I was shaking like a leaf. My voice came out desperate, even louder than Seth's.

"I'm sorry," I repeated, quieter. "I'm sorry I told Ian, and I'm sorry he told Bailey, and I'm sorry I'm such a bitch and I'm sorry that Sam left me and I'm sorry about dad and I'm sorry that Bailey's angry- and- and- I'm just _really sorry_."

My voice echoed through the house.

Seth was quiet. Not even the bird's cried to each other outside, having holed up in their nests due to the storm threatening overhead.

I wish I was a bird. I wish I could fly away.

"The only reason I told Ian," I said, my voice breaking, "Was because now that he knows about everything, he can't leave me."

The words came out before I even thought about them. They dripped in the air between me and Seth, swimming around and replaying in my ears over and over again.

I didn't look at Seth. I walked past him, shoving him with my shoulder, and went out the door.

I didn't bother to phase. You can't cry when you're a wolf.

I didn't know where I was going. The water coming from my eyes blinded me and stung my throat as I tripped and stumbled out of the front yard, to the road. A car rushed past me. One more step forward, and it would've hit me and I would've been dead.

I sprinted across the road, wiping at my eyes, trying to catch my breath, sputtering as I ran.

I didn't realize where I was going until I ran nearly ran into a half-crushed bush, sitting in the middle of a lawn of dead grass.

Ian's house.

Bailey's house.

I wiped my eyes, smearing the back of my hand with tears. I hated crying. It made me feel as weak as a little ant.

I pounded my fist against the door in a steady rhythm, not stopping until it opened up and my fist met only air.

It was Ian.

He stared at me.

I knew I looked like death. I didn't care.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I told you and that I'm such a jackass and that I stormed out like that. I apologized to Seth, so now I'm going to apologize to you."

He didn't move. Just stared at me with eyes way too tired for an almost-fifteen year old.

"I need to find Bailey," I sniffed.

He nodded, mouth twitching, then peered behind me like he was looking for somebody.

"So do I."

I sniffed again. The sound of his voice- quiet, subdued, _not angry at me_- washed over me like cool water.

"What?" I asked, confused. "I- I'm trying to find Bailey…" I repeated

"So am I. She's not here."


	34. Coward of a Girl

**As promised... Chapter 34! IMPORtANT: Mini-spoiler: Bailey's dad will be making an appearance sometime very soon. While Bailey sorts all of that out and the resulting...um... _consequences_, there may be a couple chapters where Seth does not come in. To fix this resulting deprivation of Seth-ness, I was thinking of doing a chapter in his POV. Yay? Nay? Please tell me what you think!**

**Just a reminder... suggestions! Comments! Questions! All are welcome! Enjoy...**

There is a time for everything.

For instance, there is a time for a girl to stuff her face with ice cream and wallow in a down comforter of self-pity. There is also a time for a girl to get back in control of her life, take a shower, and do something other than skulking around her house all day thinking of a particular _boy_ with a great smile that has vanished for the past couple of days and it's all her fault.

Now was one of those times.

To take back control of my life, I mean. And though I'm not entirely sure of what that encompassed, doing _anything _would be better than just waiting around in the cold, empty, entirely Seth-less house. The image of _his _dark eyes, _his _back walking around from me, _his _words that so effortlessly wrenched around my insides like a blender so that they were one sloppy, mushy mess...

_"You broke my heart."_

Did I, Bailey Clera, really have the power to break someone's heart?

Seth was just such a _boy_. He was big and muscled and could break a lock without the use of any heavy machinery. Surely a man who could break a dead-bolt lock with his hands could break the fragile muscle that was a girl's heart. And he had; when I learned about him imprinting. But could it ever be the other way around? I looked down at myself. At my hands, all fluttery and small, my arms, which had so little muscle that they barely moved when I "flexed" them. I refused to believe that I was fragile - I survived an abusive step-father for fifteen years, thank-you-very-much. Not that Seth knows about that. Damn. I still haven't told him.

But, in weight-lifting terms at least, I was weak. How could a girl as weak as me - _any _girl, for that matter - possess enough strength to own part of Seth's heart? Not all of it, maybe... just enough to break it.

Maybe Buffy the Vampire Slayer could. Or Padme Amidala.

But not _me_.

But, if by some chance, he _did _in fact really love me, and I actually _did _manage to have some control over his heart, would I be smart enough to protect it?

My eyes were filled with a sudden aggravating wetness that accompanied a distinct surge of protectiveness over Seth.

He was big. He could turn into a wolf. Those muscles had more of a purpose then just looking sexy. He could protect himself from vampires, from any kind of animal, guns... anything physical. But what about his heart? He was so _open. _And happy. He was a kid whose dad had died only a month or two ago. Inside, Seth... No matter how odd it sounded to say, Seth was fragile.

How did I know this?

Because that was what I saw in his eyes this morning. There were no walls there. Even as I "broke his heart," he never put any walls up against me - he bared himself, told me he loved me.

I unconsciously snarled, my lips curling up. Had he had a girlfriend before? Was he so open to all the girls he talked to? Would any girl be _stupid _enough to abuse that privileges of the access to his heart? To use him, to take advantage of his openness and his feeling and wrap them around her own finger?

_"I hate you...__Nevermind. Go away."_

Well.

I guess that answers that question.

But I couldn't really blame myself, right? Because that was all assuming he actually _did _love me and I was wasn't just imagining things, which I obviously was because he imprinted on me and-

_Gah!_

I was taking a shower.

In an unconscious act of desperation and stupidity, I didn't even take off my clothes before I stepped in. The water immediately soaked through the thin tee-shirt I was wearing, plastering it to my body. My jeans started to become heavy, weighted down with the cold water...

I just stood there.

You know what this reminded me of? It reminded me of Seth. Sopping, happy Seth with flower petals in his hair, going through my literary selections in the middle of the night. Sexy, shadowed Seth, pulling me close to him and rubbing his calloused thumb against my hip and breathing a kiss down the corner of my lips that made my spine shudder and my toes curl.

I remembered the feel of his burning skin.

I remembered the space between us this morning. My chest shuddered. I felt too empty.

I took off my clothes and finished the shower like a normal person. I took my time, scrubbing myself and pretending that I was washing away the emptiness that Seth's absence always left me with. Did imprinting affect the imrintee? Was that what the rope strung in my chest was?

Did that mean the rope was fake, too?

I also took the time to shaved my legs. Because it is a simple fact of life that all adversities a girl might have to face are made far better when she faces them with silky-smooth legs.

When I finally stepped out I didn't bother drying off, just shoved on with some difficulty my damp clothes that were waiting for me in a pile, surrounded by a pool of water. The clothes were cold and uncomfortable, but I figured it didn't matter. As per usual, it was raining outside. Steady, fat drops. I would be cold and uncomfortable regardless of if my clothes started out dry.

I clumped down the steps, shoved on a pair of Ian's boots, then figured that he might need them later and pulled on a pair of my own flip-flops instead.

_"...I'm never going to give up..."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because I love you."_

I walked outside and immediately started shivering, my already cold clothes being doused in the frigid rainwater. My feet squished on the ground, toes already going prune-y, the tops being covered in loose pieces of grass and dirt.

I started walking along the highway.

Each car passing by sent a misty spray of water into my face, a blur of shimmery headlights blinding me. Water dripped into my eyes and I was sure I looked like a wet cat.

I had been in this situation before. I just couldn't remember when...

What would Ian think when he came home and I was gone? Would he just assume I was with Seth? Or would he put two and two together and figure that we weren't exactly on the most excellent of terms right now? Would he look for me? Speaking of which... where was Ian, right now? And what was the deal with him and that doll? My step-father?

Shoot. My step-father.

Thinking of him sent me walking faster, refueling my purpose. What was my purpose?

I was running away.

Well, walking away. On a highway in flip-flops, with no specific destination in mind.

But still, the idea was the same.

And I would be damned if Seth found me this time.


	35. Promise

**I could make a bunch of excuses as to why this chapter did not come out sooner, but let's just get on with the story, shall we? **

If I jumped off a cliff and died…

What would Seth do?

_God,_ I'm such a weenie.

Despite my internal alarm which was currently going on overdrive, I shifted on my knees to get a closer look at the sheer drop.

If you looked out straight out ahead, it didn't even look that bad. The ocean looked cool and calm. The beach only a couple vertical hundred yards away. I could totally swim there, right? I imagined the fall, slicing cleanly through the water as my world went cool and wet…

But then my gaze shifted and raced down the wall of haggard rock, stopping when they met the white-capped hats of the waves. They seemed frustrated as they battered, over and over, against the unmoving cliff. The jagged tips of rocks appeared every couple of seconds when the waves receded, only to be swallowed up again. Just looking straight down brought on a wave of nausea. The wind suddenly seeming to be edging me closer, pushing me off…

In other words, pretty nice from far away. Up close? Different matter entirely.

Why did I feel like this should be a metaphor for something?

I groaned and rolled over on my back. It wasn't the most comfortable position, what with the moss dampening my already damp shirt and rocks poking into my spine. But the wind was nice. If I concentrated hard enough, just like last time, it was all I could feel.

I didn't quite know what I was expecting when I came here. I trudged along the highway for a while, then, next thing I know, I guess my subconscious or something (okay, okay, maybe it wasn't _all _my subconscious) naturally gravitated towards all things Seth-related. Because I came upon a driveway. And it was _his _driveway. Going up to _his _house.

And after I found out first-hand that driveways or about a hundred miles longer when you're not riding up it in a motorcycle tucked into the arms of a sex-god, I spent twenty minutes loitering in the woods skirting his house. I sure as heck wasn't going to go _in_ – desperate, much? Which, I mean, I was, but he probably would think I was stalking him or something – but do I dare cross his yard? What if he was at home and he saw me? Or, even worse, if he was at home but he _didn't _see me? Or if he saw me and didn't do anything?

Which, hypothetically, was what I wanted. But I still obsessed about it, because that was just all I seemed to be doing these days. Obsessing and crying.

At some point I saw Leah storm into the house from somewhere in the woods, scaring the bejeezus out of me. A couple minutes later I saw her storm back out, her back facing me. That was when I decided: I was going in.

Across. Whatever.

Head held up high, I crossed the yard of my one true love.

Nothing happened.

Which was _totally _what I wanted. I mean, it's not like I was insanely disappointed or anything when no Seth came running out the door looking all cute in a polo, or anything of the sort.

_Nooooosireee._

After that, I didn't want to waste all of the energy that had been put into my courageous walk across the front yard. So I kind of twiddled my thumbs for a while, but eventually came up with a wonderful decision:

I would find our spot again.

"Our spot," meaning the clearing near the edge of the cliff. The one where Seth spun me around in his arms while I gleefully kissed him then proceeded to pool my innermost thoughts to the most delicious peanut butter sandwich I had ever eaten (because he remembered I didn't eat meat!), then kiss him some more in the sand, all wrapped up and warm and safe against his chest.

Yeah.

_That _spot.

Next thing you know – Surprise, surprise! Bailey's in the woods again!

The path seemed much longer then I remembered. And much scarier, when I didn't have a six foot tall beacon in front of me to be my guide. In fact, I was just about to turn around when I tripped over a root and almost went splat right into the clearing.

And it was nice.

The view was still pretty great, the wind was still refreshing…

But there was something that wasn't there. I pulled my arms into my chest and kept looking over my shoulder, as if expecting something amazing to happen. Something that would ignite that little spark that made this place feel so special last time.

Which is when I realized something. Something that was probably quite obvious to most people, but let's just remember that I wasn't in the most stable mental state right now. I mean, I had freaking _run away_, only to end up in the back yard of the exact person I was trying to run away from.

Which was just a bit pathetic, if you thought about it.

Lucky for me, I had decided a couple minutes ago to just stop thinking. It made life easier.

Anyways, the thing I realized-

"Geez, where the hell have you _been_?"

I screamed, completely unsuspecting of the shape that suddenly appeared behind me. At this point I was standing back up, staring into the subtly darkening sky. The surprise sent me rearing back, one heel sipping over the edge-

Leah grabbed my arm, pulled me roughly back.

"Way to kill yourself, Bailey. What are you _doing_?"

I stood there, heart pumping violently from the adrenaline rush of almost having died. Leah still hadn't let go of my arm, and her grasp kind of hurt.

She looked…

She looked different.

The same well-worn scowl was on her face, but it seemed half-hearted. The wind blew her hair in whipping motions around her head, and some of the pieces stuck to her cheek. Her voice was condescending as always, but raw.

Leah… terrifying, tough, strong Leah, had been _crying_.

"I know you can talk, okay?" She sounded exhausted. "I'm not gonna… like, hurt you or whatever." She glanced down at her grip encircling my arm, and quickly let go. I stared at the tear marks on her face. She looked out towards the ocean.

"Wha- what was the question?" I stuttered. She rolled her eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"I- I- what are _you _doing?"

"I'm looking for you, idiot. Ian freaked when you weren't at home."

"Oh." My eyebrows drew down when I remembered Ian. _Ian_. Any anger I had held for him evaporated. How could I ever run away? How could I ever leave_ Ian_? Though it sounded stupid now, I repeated my original purpose to Leah. "I'm running away."

I saw her smirk in profile, still looking out to the ocean. It was hard to hear; the wind seemed to steal the words as soon as they came out of your mouth. "Oh, really?"

"Mh-hm," I said, nodding vigorously.

"Fat lot of good _that_'ll do you."

"I- what?"

"Nevermind."

She crossed her arms, and it was silent for a minute. I stared at her, staring straight ahead. She sighed.

"So… are you just gonna stay here for a while? 'Cause that's cool and everything, but Seth'll kill me if I don't get you home by night…"

I scowled, not liking the way she made me sound like a petulant little child. My expression changed, though, when her words registered. "S-Seth?" I asked, my voice breaking. "Does he…"

"Does he know you're here?" She finished for me.

I nodded.

"No. He's too busy breaking chairs."

I pondered over that for a minute, then eventually decided it wasn't worth the effort to ask her what she meant. Not to mention the fact that his name felt like a kick to the gut.

I realized that my whole existence was hanging on the thread of the fact that he was going to show up at my house tomorrow.

Which didn't make any sense. _I _was the one who didn't want to see him, right?

"How did you find me?"

"You smell."

"Hey! I-"

"Just kidding. You do, but not, like, bad or anything. I followed your scent."

I didn't answer. She must be killer at hide-and-seek.

"So, are you going to head back soon?"

I crossed my arms. "I- I can't go _back_."

"Uh, yeah you do. Hate to break it to you, but camping out here or whatever wouldn't be-"

"But- but I ran away!"

"Yeah! You did! Great job, mission accomplished. Time to go home."

I looked down at the ground. Leah didn't get it. She was mean, she was arrogant, she didn't understand anything.

"No."

She sighed.

"Why are you here?" I muttered, kicking at the rocks, not even sure she could hear me above the wind.

"I told you. You can't just pick up and leave like that without expecting people to come after you, okay? That's stupid." My chin jerked up fractionally, because that _was _what I had expected. I hadn't thought anybody would miss me. "And," she added, sounding deeply tired, "I have to explain. A lot."

I waited expectantly. She stared back evenly at me.

"Well?" I finally asked, my voice not coming out quite as commanding as I would have liked.

"How about if you start walking back with me, I'll do the explaining then."

"I'm not a kid, Leah."

"Yeah, I know. Kids have more common sense then you do."

"_You-"_

"Sorry, sorry, that was mean. Just- it's about the imprinting. I'm guessing Ian probably told you about all of the stuff I told him… all of the-"

"I know what you're talking about," I hissed, closing my eyes.

"Yeah, well, I was lying. About everything."

"No you weren't," I mumbled. "Seth said he imprinted on me. He _said _it."

"Well, not about the imprinting. But about all the other stuff, like how he was using you and…"

I let her voice trail behind me as I turned back towards to the woods. I knew all of this. I knew she was lying about all of that. That wasn't what was bothering me. And _that _was why I had come here, so I could hide from everything. Hide form all of the tears and anger and hurt faces and "I hate you"s that were currently tainting my mouth.

"Hey! Wait up! I just-"

"I know you were lying, Leah."

She followed after me, crashing as I was through the undergrowth, back the way I had come. The branches blocked out any remainder of sunlight, staining all of the plants to a color close to black.

"Wait- you did? Then- then why the hell am I here? Isn't that the whole reason you were fighting with Seth? I wasn't joking when I said he was breaking chairs, you know. He literally _shattered _one of our dining room chairs, and now I'm totally gonna have to clean it up before mom gets home, because God forbid he ever do something responsible. Well, besides for you. He's pretty responsible with you. What was I talking about?"

I kept walking, focusing all of my energy on not tripping on a root and sprawling on the ground. I just did _not _feel like talking about this anymore. Seth didn't understand, _I _didn't fully understand, why would Leah be any different?

"Right. You and Seth. Then- oh my gosh, wait up! I'm just trying to talk to you, geez!"

"We're not really fighting," I said, not really caring if she heard me or not, my voice taut. "Well, I- I mean, we are. But not really. _I _am fighting with him, cause- well- it's cause of the imprinting. It- it freaking _pisses _me off, cause it means that he doesn't really love me. It means that all of my sucky qualities are still sucky, but he just doesn't think so, cause- _Shit!_"

My foot crashed painfully into a rock, sending a jolt of pain all up my leg.

Leah stared at me for a moment, hopping up and down like an idiot and clutching onto my injured foot.

"Did you just cuss?"

I collapsed onto the ground. I- I was _done_. I was just done. I wanted to curl up and sleep and not wake up until everybody I ever knew was _dead_.

Leah sat down quietly next to me. She didn't say anything for a full two minutes, just sat there. The night seemed to press in on us, all of the sounds of the forest seeming to come awake once the sound of my mindless stumbling and crashing and killing of various undergrowths wasn't disturbing it.

It was very dark.

I was suddenly glad she was there. Even if it was just because it made the night less terrifying.

"I know what you mean," she said quietly.

I pressed my fingers against my eyes, shaking my head. How could she know what I meant?

"It was the same with Emily," she continued quietly. "It didn't seem right. She was… was just always so _good_, you know? And Sam was an ass. I still loved him, but he was an ass. And then all of a sudden he says that he loves her, and she's supposed to love him back… but it just didn't make sense. He had no reason to love her except for her genes. So why did they stay together?" Her next words were so quiet that I barely caught them.

"Why did _she _love him back?"

I slowly raised my head to look at her, eyes wide. How had Leah, _Leah _of all people, managed to put into words the exact thing that I had been feeling, struggling to explain even to myself?

This was a Leah I had never seen before. Her eyes weren't guarded, her mouth wasn't set.

She just looked sad.

"You loved Sam?" I asked. I immediately knew the answer to my own question – I had seen it, seen it in the way she looked at him, in the way she looked at Ian.

She nodded.

"But then he imprinted on Emily," I stated.

She nodded again.

"So that's why you're-"

"Such a bitch?"

"I was going to say sad."

"Oh. Well. Yeah." She traced a pattern in the dirt with her hand. "I know this may not seem possible for you to think… but I loved Sam as much as you love Seth. You're human, I'm- I _was _human, we had the same capability to love. And I promise, I loved him so much that it hurt."

Her eyebrows puckered, voice getting caught. Her finger ground deeper into the ground. "We were going to get married. I was going to have his children."

"Oh my gosh," I whispered.

"And then Emily came in, and everything just…" Her hand relaxed. She dropped her chin to her knees, closing her eyes. It was too dark to see her tears, but it was just something that I could feel in the air between us. I wanted to reach out to her, to touch her shoulder or something, to-

"Anyways," she said abruptly, lifting her head back up. "I didn't come here to give you my crap story. I came here to get you back with Seth."

"But…" I didn't understand. Hadn't she just told me why imprinting was wrong? "But you just said…"

"I just said the imprinting sucks. _If _you're not the one imprinted on. But you are. And- think about this, okay? I'm trying really hard here, considering that it seems like my whole life I've been coming up with reasons why imprinting is wrong. But, I know to you it seems unnatural and everything. But what about love _isn't _unnatural? How can two people – _two people _– out of the seven billion or whatever there are – find a soulmate in each other? I mean, really, what are the chances? And why do those two people, even if they are complete friggin opposites, why do they just happen to fall in love with each other, with that specific person, instead of the billions of other people out there? Imprinting is just like normal love, except better, because Seth loves you more than any human is capable."

"Bu-"

"And," she said, getting into it. I heard her slap her hands to the ground, rustling the leaves. "Why. The hell. Does it _matter_? He _loves you_, for God's sake! He really, really loves you! Why does it matter _why _he does? I would kill somebody for that, Bailey. Just love him back! You two were meant for each other- literally created for one another, okay? Just- just stop thinking, stop trying so _damn_ hard. Let him love you."

"I- but- I-" I took a deep breath. Who was I kidding? Why prolong the inevitable? Why ruin my life, why ruin his?

"Okay."

"Okay? You'll… you'll stop giving him all this crap? Do you promise?"

…

"Promise."


	36. Exploding Cantaloupe In Times Of Trauma

**No, I did not forget... Time for the Seth POV! Having the imprinting factor kind of gave me free reign to be as mushy as I wanted... but I just didn't feel like Seth was a really mushy person, you know? If you guys really liked it, then I could do the scene directly following this at Bailey's house in this POV as well, or I could go back to the present and Bailey POV. Please tell me what you think!**

**This takes place directly before Bailey's phone call to Seth. Enjoy! :)**

"Hey, Seth! Broski!"

"Que pasa?"

"Get your ass down for patrol!"

"No way, dude. Sam said I was off."

"Quil said different."

"What does Quil know?"

"He knows how to beat you up. Other than that? Not much."

"Whoa, dude. Just 'cause I'm young doesn't mean-"

"Heard it before, pipsqueak. Are you gonna come or-"

"Seth!" Paul's voice was, for once, a welcome distraction. I called back out to the window to Jared, "So sorry, Paul needs something. Guess I can't do patrol!" and shut the window before he could say anything else. We were at Sam and Emily's house. Come to think, when weren't at Sam and Emily's house? It had become our pretty permanent sleeping quarters for the last couple of weeks, when Sam was hauling us up at random hours of the night.

Not that I minded. Emily made great muffins.

I did feel kinda bad for my mom, though. At least it was closer to Bailey.

I hopped off of the couch and walked to the kitchen, almost regretting having thought about her. Here I was, doing absolutely nothing at Sam's house. Why wasn't I with _her_?

_Give her space_, Sam said. Psh. I gave her plenty of _space_. It was by complete personal choice that we sometimes ended up slightly in each other's personal bubbles'.

Of course, she'de be sleeping, but that was fine. I remembered last time. It was fun to watch her sleep. I didn't have to worry about anything hurting her or making her unhappy. I could just hold her, all small and soft and trusting and nestled into me… I smiled, thinking of all the nights ahead of us that could be spent like that.

Not _all _the nights, I mean. Not that I was rushing for some action or anything, but the fact that she didn't know how irresistible she was just made her sexier. Did she have any idea what it _did_ to me when she wore that soft, grey tee-shirt of hers that kind of slid off her shoulders whenever she reached up for something? That short little white skirt? _God._ That skirt. Those legs, her perky little butt...

Not now, but all in good time, right? For now I was perfectly content just to hold her while she slept. And if that was what made her happy, then-

"Look, Seth!"

I was pulled out of my thoughts, in a slightly less enjoyable direction.

"Um… Paul? What the hell…"

"Isn't it cool?"

"Uh. Sure. What is it?" It appeared to me like I was looking at some kind of melon, encircled countless times by a bunch of rubber bands.

"It's a cantaloupe."

"Oh. Cool." I nodded, waiting for further explanation. Not that I hadn't walked into weirder things in this house with the pack around. "What're you doing with it?"

Embry answered this time, while gingerly sliding another rubber band over the slightly bulging cantaloupe. "We're seeing how many rubber bands we have to put on it for it to explode."

"We started it during science class," Paul explained, looking ridiculously excited, "But we didn't finish. So I was like, hey, can I have the cantaloupe? And I'm pretty sure the teacher thought I was gonna deck it a freshmen or something, but she let me have it."

"What're you on right now?"

"Rubber bands?"

"Yeah."

"About four hundred."

I shrugged, going to sit by the table. Exploding cantaloupes. Cool. Leah, who was sitting on the opposite side of the kitchen, rolled her eyes at me before turning back to the book she was reading. It annoyed me when she read my mind like that; it was bad enough when I was a wolf, why did she have to do it when we were human?

I watched silently as Embry and Paul piled the rubber bands on the cantaloupe in the brightly lit kitchen. I was content, I mean, I had nothing to be sad for. But I wasn't _happy. _Not if she wasn't with me. I remembered this feeling from when I first phased and felt Sam's thoughts about Emily. I remembered the distinct feeling of… of _emptiness_. Of being too alone in the world. An ever-present, gnawing worry that stuck like cactus prickles in the back of my brain – was she all right? Was she happy? Did she have people who loved her? Did she know I loved her?

The feeling had scared me. I did not want to imprint. I did not want to be tied down like that.

But- but man! Now, I wouldn't give it up for the world. Not for _anything_. Because just seeing her once, for a fraction of a second, with that little smile on her face that she used only when she was around me, that made up for _everything_.

I didn't understand it, and I didn't really try to. What was the use?

All I knew was that when she cried, a little piece of me died. Because I might be the cause. And when we were together… everything was just _right_. My life, all of the little puzzle pieces, clicked right into place. I loved the things she said. I loved how her eyebrows would quirk up and say things that her mouth didn't. I loved how she made me feel happy, and I loved how I think I made her happy, too.

And Paul didn't agree, but I thought she was hot. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Have you seen her eyes? What more could a guy want?

Like. Honestly.

I didn't question it.

"And… four hundred fifty-seven! We're kinda running out of rubber bands, though."

"Eh. We'll make it."

"What're you guys going to do when that thing explodes?" Leah asked from across the room, her voice condescending. "It's gonna go _everywhere_. Saying that you got your eye blown out from a piece of wayward cantaloupe isn't exactly manly."

"Shut up, party-pooper."

"It's a science experiment, Lee," I said, trying to smooth over what looked to be an impending argument. "And besides, if it kills someone, Paul'll get the blame, right? So you don't have to worry about it."

She just rolled her eyes again. She did that a lot.

Just as I started imagining what Bailey would be doing in this situation (she would give me a funny look then say "Um… oh-okay" then giggle and cover her hand with her mouth or something else ridiculously cute yet frustrating at the same time. I missed her.), my phone vibrated.

_Bailey Clera_, _919-872-3244_

Ah. Wonderful.

It crossed my brain for a second to be worried- why was she calling this late at night? But I pushed the feelings aside.

Being over-protective in my brain was fine, but Leah said girls didn't like it, and the absolute _last _thing I wanted to do was scare her away or something.

I smiled already, in anticipation of her voice, strangely like a drug to me. Once again, I didn't understand, but hey! It was better then crack.

"Hey, Bail. What's up? You okay?" The nickname slipped out without me thinking, even though I knew I probably shouldn't. I could tell it bothered her. Only her brother called her "Bail."

I found myself becoming increasingly jealous that she seemed to love that _Ian_ kid more then she loved me. Tried not to show it, though. But, really… what did _he_ ever do for her?

"I..."

I immediately sensed something was wrong. She didn't continue, but the rest of the kitchen, the stupid cantaloupe, seemed to fade to the distance. It was me and her. What was wrong?

"Are you okay?"

"Mh-hm."

Then why does your voice sound muffled? Then why do I have this weird, desperate, sinking feeling in my stomach?

I wanted to be with her. I wanted to hold her. I gripped the phone instead.

"Okay... are you sure? I mean, it's like," I glanced at the clock, "1:00... Not that I mind." I quickly added. "I wasn't gonna answer but then I saw it was you and-" And I stopped watching Paul make a cantaloupe explode? That didn't sound attractive. "-and Sam let me phase back. What's up?"

"Um. I just- I- um, I just wanted to... talk."

Oh no. She was having trouble talking. That meant something was wrong. And she wanted to talk? Wasn't that, like, really bad in girl language? But if she wanted to talk, then talk we would…

"...all right. We can talk. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Uh-huh."

I gripped the phone harder. I wish she would realize that she would not win any awards in the lying department. Ever.

"Did something happen? Do you need me? I can come over. I mean, I'de much rather be with you then stuck with the pack."

"No, no... I- um. Um. I just wanted..."

Her voice seemed to break over the phone. A muffled, hitching kind of sound that I thought was bad reception suddenly became the sound of her… of her crying.

Oh no. Oh God. My chest hurt. I could imagine her, hands pressed to her face. She was so small! Anything could hurt her! If this was because of another guy, I was going to kick his ass from here to New Mexico. Preferably it would be Ian.

And that cantaloupe was really not looking stable… Paul smiled gleefully, completely oblivious to what else was happening right now. To the fact that I was pretending this phone was the face of the person who did this to her.

Wait, crap, what if it was _me_?

"Are you crying?"

No answer. Damn. This would be so much easier if she would just _talk to me_.

"The reception sucks. I can't tell. Please talk to me. What's going on?"

More snuffling noises. I was breaking. She could not be unhappy. It was a crime against humanity for this beautiful girl to be unhappy.

"Oh my God. Okay. You are. Tell me what's going on."

Sending telepathic messages – _talktome. talktome. _– through the phone really did not seem to be working. I felt like there was this unnecessary wall between us or something. Like she was struggling to get around this huge honking wall that blocked all her words… Didn't she understand? I'll cross the wall for you, you don't need to do anything, just wait there for me… She's crying. Pay attention.

"Dammit it, Bailey, talk to me!" I winced, not having meant to sound that harsh. I was not helping myself. "Okay. Oh my God. I'm coming, I'm coming to your house right now. I'm coming, just hold on, okay? If you're being attacked or something, just-just- I'll be there soon. It's okay. I'm coming."

No! Why did I say that! Now I had to worry about her being, like, raped and left to die in the woods or something-

"No."

The word stopped me dead in my movement to get out the door as fast as possible. It froze every muscle, locked my thoughts into place.

Um.

What?

Leah was looking at me curiously, Embry having stopped in mid-reach for another rubber band.

"Imprinting. You- you im- imprint. Imp- imprinted. On... on- on me."

I did not understand. So yeah, I did. Is that why you're crying? When had I ever even talked to her about that?

"Who told you that?"

Her breathing grew louder over the phone. It sounded like she was in pain, and in turn that pain increased ten-fold inside of my chest in a way that didn't make sense. I wanted to- to just wrap her up, wrap her up in bubble wrap and take her to some sunny, far away island where she could talk all she wanted and be happy and not ever, ever cry again…

"I... do... not... want you. To come."

My brain barely heard the words. Coming out of her mouth, they barely even registered. It wasn't ignorance, it was basic survival instinct. Because saying that might as well have just killed me.

So let's just ignore what Bailey just said, shall we?

My vision started to blur, my bones stretching, trying to break free of my human skin. I could protect her better as a wolf.

"Bail-"

"I... want... you... to go away. Please go away."

Right on cue, with little warning, the cantaloupe exploded. Funny. I could relate, what with the feeling going on in my chest at the current moment.

It made a sound like a- a- okay, well, it sounded like an exploding cantaloupe. It was weird. Splatters and chunks of seedy, slimy melon ricocheted all over the kitchen, knocking into cabinets, _splatting _onto floors. It probably would've been really cool to watch. That is, if I wasn't totally preoccupied at the moment.

A huge chunk blew the phone right out of my hand. I let out a slur of cusses.

"Dude!" Yelled Paul, flecks and splatters of melon all over his front, as well as the table and surrounding area. "That was amazing! What was that? Like, four hundred eighty rubber bands? Dude! Emb-"

"Wait, Paul, I think something's wrong with Seth…"

"What's up, Seth?" Leah was staring at me like a retard. I quite nearly dived to the ground in search of the phone, fumbling it in my hands.

"Did you see that, Seth? Did you-"

"Shut up, Paul! He has more to worry about then you stupid ovuloid fruit explosions!"

"Ovuloid? What does-"

"Shut up!" Both Embry and Leah said at the same time, looking at me. I wiped cantaloupe off of the screen then pressed it back to my ear. This was scary. I was scared. Without her I was… I was so totally and completely lost, I didn't even want to think about it.

"Bailey, you-"

_Click_.

She hung up. She hung up on me. She told me to go away, then hung up on me.

I-I- _what_? Did I do something wrong? Did i say something? Everything had just been so perfect the last couple of weeks… _I _had thought they were perfect. But wouldn't she tell me if something was wrong?

Psh. No. She's _Bailey._

What had she even said? That she wanted me to… to _go away_? I was away! I wasn't even at her house! She couldn't ever mean go away for like… for like, forever, right? Because that was stupid. I loved her. I could change, I could fix whatever was bothering her. She knew that, right?

"What happened?"

I stared at the phone, shaking my head. I knew I wasn't good enough for her; nobody would be. But wasn't I as close as it would come?

"_Seth_."

"I- It was Bailey. And she…" I was abruptly hit with an idea. "Where's Kim?"

"I don't know. With Jared, probably."

"Definitely."

"Why? What're you guys talking about? This doesn't have anything to do with the cantaloupe, right?"

"Go away, Paul."

"I need a girl," I said.

"And what am I, chopped liver?"

"Be quiet, Leah."

Emily, I guess having woke up from the minor explosion that just went on in her kitchen, appeared in the doorway. Her eyes quickly went from filled to sleep to filled with horror when she saw pieces of melon thrown about the floor. "Boys! Wha- how- wha- _what have you done to my kitchen?_"

"Emily!" I called out, suddenly feeling like I was running out of time.

She wanted me to _go away_? Okay. That hurt.

That _really _hurt.

I loved her so much. Lots of times when I told her that, I saw an unspoken question in her eye. She would look at me like she was expecting me to explain why. Which, I mean, that was a crap question. It was like when you learn a whole bunch of new adjectives in Spanish class, and you're supposed to describe your hero and why you love them. And you come up with all this lame stuff like _Um… I don't know… cause he's funny? Cause she's nice?_

But why do you really love someone? Why did I love Bailey?

I dunno.

It was just that, when I saw her, I was happy. I felt… safe. Like nothing could touch me. And everything she did, every action she made, made me love her, simply because she was the one doing them. Because nobody else in the world would do the same thing. Nobody else in the world had little conversations with themselves- I don't even think she realized that she was saying them aloud, but sometimes I would hear her talking to herself. Addressing herself like she was talking to a friend. Which made me really sad for some reason.

And she made me want to be good. Good to her, good to the world in general… because that was what she deserved. She was good and she was guarded but I was breaking down that wall, and someday she would tell me her secrets. Probably when I didn't expect it.

And, you know, her butt. Which _totally _was not why I was in love with her, but still. It wasn't hurting anything.

"What- what _is _that? Is that-"

"It's cantaloupe. Blame Paul. I need your help, Emily."

"A _cantaloupe_? What in God's name were you doing-"

"Bailey called," I said, and she must've heard something in my voice because she stopped staring in horror at the mess in the kitchen and turned to look at me. "And- and she… She told me to go away."

Emily's eyebrows went down. The full horror of what was going on right now descended on me when I actually said the words. I was born to love this girl. She was the freaking reason for my _existance_, and if I had to somehow live without her…

A crunching noise came from my hand, what I was pretty sure was the feeble metal of the telephone calling surrender. I didn't really know. I couldn't stop my hand from shaking long enough to open it up.

"To go away?"

"Yeah. And she was like, crying. But she didn't say why. And I'm really worried, and I think I should go over there right now, but-"

"Wait," Emily held up her hand. Embry looked like he was trying to quietly back out of the room and avoid any type of love-related drama. Paul still looked like he had no idea what was going on, and Leah looked angry. All in all, nothing out of the ordinary.

"She said what? She called you and just… randomly told you to go away? Does she know about the imprinting?"

"I don't know. She kind of mentioned it, like, she was all 'you imprinted on me,' which isn't even a big deal. And then she…" I didn't finish the sentence. It made me feel vaguely sick to think about living without her. It wouldn't even be _living_, really. More going through the motions. That wasn't what she meant, right?

Emily sighed. "It is too late for this," she murmered.

"Early, actually." Piped up Paul. "It's one in the morning, so-"

"Shut up, Paul." The order came from everybody in the room. He scowled.

"Okay, well… if she just learned about the imprinting… were you the one who told her?"

I shook my head vigorously. I would've remembered something like that, right? I _was _planning on telling her. Just… later on. I didn't really matter, did it? Sure, I imprinted on her. But that didn't change anything.

"Okay, then… we'll sort that out later. But, she's probably just not thinking straight. I remember when Sam first told me… For a little bit, I was kind of freaked out. She probably is, too. I don't think she meant it , Seth, okay?" her eyes softened when she looked at me. "It'll be okay. I'm sure she doesn't _really _want you to go away. Just… just give her some time. To sort things out."

"Time? How much time? Is ten minutes enough? Can I go over there right now?"

"No, no, I mean- at least wait until morning. At least. It's late, she's probably tired. Let her sleep."

"I _would_," I said, slightly offended.

"I know you would, Seth. But you've just got to give her some space. And in the meantime… help me clean up this mess?"

How was I supposed to focus on cantaloupe, when Bailey was crying?


	37. Apology Not Accepted

It had happened this morning.

When I realized this fact, I quite nearly stopped dead in my tracks. Had all of this really started only about twelve hours ago? Let's see: I had managed to break the heart of the guy I loved, break up with the guy I loved, run away from the guy I loved, have a heart-to-heart with the sister of the guy I loved, and resolve to make it back up to the guy I loved as soon as possible. All in one day.

I think we have a record here, ladies and gentlemen!

Needless to say, I was exhausted. Leah ended up driving me back to my house in her beat-up car with the stained leather seats. My eyes were watering and pooling over, but this time it was because I just couldn't seem to get myself to stop yawning. Leah offered to walk me up to the door, saying that I looked kind of drunk, but I declined. I should be able to make it up the porch steps. After that? It would be all I could do to make it to my bed and not collapse in the middle of our kitchen floor.

I was surprised to see the lights still on in our house. The glaring was too harsh and I squinted, shielding my eyes with the back of my hand, while fumbling with the front door. They reactivated my brain, and it felt a little less like my limbs were dripping with quicksand whenever I told them to do something.

Ian emerged from the kitchen while I closed the door.

Somehow, this surprised me. He had been so uncharacteristically far from my thoughts this day that I had expected him to… I don't know. Be at the gas station. Or sleeping. Not having anything to do with me.

He looked tired.

"Ian? What…"

"Nice to see you too, Bail. It's not like you haven't been MIA for the greater part of the day with no explanation at all given to your dear brother."

"What are you doing?"

He had smiled vaguely when I walked in, crossing his arms, but now he threw them up in sudden exasperation.

"_Why _do people keep asking me that? I live here! I am your brother, I live in the same house as you do! Or have you forgotten? Cause, you know, it seems like you're never here anymore. You're always out frolicking with Seb, or whatever his name is."

"Seth," I corrected, though I knew full well that Ian knew his name. "And _you're_ one to talk," I accused, my sleepiness being converted to crankiness when faced with my kid brother. "Every other time I go looking for you, you're _frolicking _at the gas station."

He seemed surprised by the harshness of my words, taking a step back from his palms up. This time he was, thankfully, clothed on the bottom half with athletic shorts, a hoodie that was too big hanging off of his skinny frame.

"Sorry," I apologized. "At least you're getting paid."

He smiled at me. All is forgiven.

I started to trudge past our kitchen to the stairs, the warm comforter calling to me. I just wanted to sleep. I would fix everything tomorrow, but right now I needed to sleep. But Ian followed behing like a little puppy dog.

Dang it, why'de we have to bring up dogs?

"So, where were you?"

"What?"

"Where were you? Today. When you disappeared."

"I didn't disappear, Ian. I'm almost an adult. It's not like I can't go off by myself for a day without-"

"Right, right," he said, interrupting me. "But where'd you go? And don't lie. It's not like you could've gone to some concert or something cool-"

"Are you implying that I am not the type of person who does anything cool?"

"Well… um. Maybe. But you don't even have a car. Where were you?"

I waved my hand vaguely in his direction, really not feeling like explaining everything. "Just… around."

"Oh,_ around_? I've been there before. Great place."

If he thought he was funny, it definitely was not having any effect on me in my current exhausted state.

"Just…" I sighed. "Near the cliffs. Leah found me. I just needed some space."

"It's not like you have any friends, who did you need space from?"

I thought about taking offense, but decided against it. We both knew what he said was true.

"Just. You know. Seth. All of that."

"Seth? You broke up with him, right?"

I winced. "Look, Ian…" I said, about to figure out how to put "I am getting back with this guy and I don't really give a crap what you think about it anymore" into kind words.

"Look, I'm sorry about that," he interrupted. I stopped, looking at him. He shoved his hands into his pockets, seeming uncomfortable. "I want you to be happy, and I wasn't trying to be all mean, Mr. Bad Brother… I just didn't want you to fall in love then get totally wrecked by him, you know? 'Cause, no offense, Bail, but he could totally wreck you."

I stared at him, uncomprehending. "Is this supposed to be some innuendo, Ian?"

He blushed, looking down. "_No! _No, I mean, if he, you know, broke… up with you. Broke your heart." He tripped over the words, saying them quietly to his feet, uncomfortable with showing any signs of affection in the presence of his older sister. "You would… he could really hurt you. I didn't want that. Especially if it wasn't worth it- if it was just for some guy who wanted you for your-"

"Yeah, I get it."

I opened my mouth to explain that, well, too bad so sad, Ian, but then I stopped. He was kind of looking up at me, trying to see whether I would get mad at what he just said. My little brother. He was trying to protect me… even though I was older… even though he was, like, thirty pounds heavier…

You know what? It could wait until tomorrow. I did not need to upset Ian again tonight.

"Oh. Yeah. Well. Thanks, for…"

"Yeah. Sure."

There was an awkward silence while I wasn't sure whether or not I was supposed to hug him or something, when his face abruptly brightened with remembrance.

"Oh! I forgot. Did you get the… the present?"

I had just been turning around to go up the stairs, and I sighed deeply when he spoke to me again. What does a girl need to do to get her beauty rest around here?

"What present?"

"Well, I mean, not present. But… from dad." He winced a little when he said the dreaded 'd' word, judging my reaction.

I froze.

"The doll," he explained. "That was why I was totally freaked when you weren't here, because I was worried it was 'cause of that. And I needed to tell you about it. And dad."

I was still frozen, mid-turn in going to face Ian. He moved so that he was standing in front of me, closer, arms reached out half expectantly like he was expecting me to just keel over.

What was it about the thought of my step-dad that made this horrific, dread-filled, wrenching feeling cloud up in my stomach?

I swallowed. It hurt. "…Yeah?" It was the only thing I could get out, one word that prompted him to go on, to explain. Humans have a fear of the unknown. Maybe that was it. Maybe if I could just understand my step-father, then he wouldn't be so bad…

"Yeah. So… He got kicked out of his apartment this morning. Anyways-" He rushed the words out, as if tyring to slip them past me without my notice. I noticed.

"Why'de he get kicked out?"

"Oh, just…" He shifted back and forth on his heels, cupping the back of his neck with his hand.

"What, Ian?"

"He… um, he kind a tried to feel up the secretary or something, and she got pissed. But it wasn't that big of a deal!" He rushed out, seeing the horrified expression that came to my face. "She just got really angry, and her family was really rich, and the complex didn't want her to sue or something."

Oh God. I knew what was coming. I knew what he was going to say. He was going to say that he had, naturally, invited my step-father into our house. He was probably in my bedroom right now, going through my bra drawer-

"Hey, are you okay? You look like you're gonna hurl."

"Where is he?" My voice came out as a barely recognizable whisper.

"Where is he? Dad? He's at the station. Gas station."

"Oh!" I gasped in relief, feeling as if I could breathe again. I slid down the wall to sit on the bottom step, my limbs seeming to have suddenly turned to jello. It was okay, he wasn't here. He couldn't' touch me.

Ian joined me on the bottom step. I took comfort in his warm form, pressed lightly against me. Ian was comfortable, he was familiar, I felt safe with him.

"Yeah. Don't worry. I didn't want you to go into cardiac arrest or something, so I didn't invite him over to our house. But, anyways, he mentioned it- I said no, of course, like I just said- but he started talking about you."

I pressed my mouth against my knees, curled up to my chest.

I was completely awake.

"And it was kinda weird, like, he was asking how you were doing and stuff, but I thought it was okay, cause at least he seemed to care about you. At least, enough to ask."

I didn't move. He didn't care about me.

What world was Ian living in? How could he stand, how could he _live, _to be around him?

"And he said that he wanted to apologize to you. Like, in person."

He was staring at me, waiting for some kind of reaction. I think he had mentioned this before.

But I did not understand. My step-father wanted to _apologize_? How do you apologize for something like that?

Can you just _apologize_ for child abuse?

Hadn't I been making an argument just a couple seconds ago that I wasn't a child anymore, though?

Either way, there was only one answer: Over my dead body. Or, if Seth knew, over his.

But he didn't.

There was still a part of me, a huge, significant, deeply rooted chunk, that Seth didn't know about.

"For what?" I asked. I was curious what my step-father thought he could get away with.

"I don't know," Ian said, shrugging as if it wasn't a big deal. "Just for… everything. Some of the… things that happened while we were still living with him." He nudged me with his shoulder. "You know what I'm talking about.

"You're the one he should be apologizing to," I mumbled. "You're the one he hit." Ian didn't know about the bra incident. Ian didn't know that he would call my mother _sugar _before he had sex with her, and he had recently started applying the pet name to me too.

Ian winced. "That wasn't his fault. He was drunk."

I snorted. "Do you realize how messed up that is?"

Ian's mouth pressed into a hard line, the scar above his eyebrow standing out. He had a lot of scars, but they were mainly on his arms. Those ones were from the drunken fights. Those ones were from my step-father's fingernails, from the sharp edges of broken beer bottles. The one above his eyebrow wasn't. This one was from when he was "flipping" his hair, making fun of me for the way I did it whenever I came out of the shower, and ended up hitting his head on the counter.

Once I had made sure he wasn't concussed or about to die, I laughed so hard I almost snorted the milk I was drinking at the time.

"This isn't about me. It's about you."

"You sound like a shrink."

"Thank you. I am."

"You're an idiot."

"He gave you the doll as a… as a make-up gift, I guess."

I lifted my head to raise my eyebrows at him, my face incredulous. "Ian."

"I know-"

"_Ian_. Have you seen that? Have you seen how creepy that doll is? Not to mention the fact that, oh, it's made for four year olds!"

"Yeah, well, at least he trying, okay? And he hasn't seen you for a while."

"Not long enough to forget that I am well passed my pre-pubescent years. What did he do? Did he just give you the doll, and…"

"Yeah. He gave me the doll and was like, here give this to Bailey and tell her that it's for her and I'm sorry. And I was like, sure. So that's what I'm doing."

A long pause while I thought about what I was going to do with this information.

My solution: I don't know. But it can wait until tomorrow.

Ian, still, had other ideas.

"Well, that's great, Ian, but I'm gonna head up now, and-"

"Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Let him apologize."

"Who?"

"_Dad_, Bailey. Pay attention."

I snorted. "Um. No."

Ian's head jerked up, and I stood up on the step, stretching myself out.

"What?"

"I'm not going to let him _apologize _or whatever he says to me, Ian. I don't want to be anywhere near him."

Ian stood up now, and my temporary advantage via height was quickly lost.

"You're… you're not?"

"No!"

"But why not? He's trying to be nice, Bail. I think he's really actually trying to fix things."

"Too late," I muttered under my breath. Ian heard me anyway.

"Too late?' What do you mean? It's not too late. At least he's-"

"It was too late between me and- and- _him _the first time he hit you, Ian. The first time he hurt you, I've hated him."

Funny, how I hadn't realized this until I actually said it aloud. Him hurting Ian had hurt me more than him hurting me. Say that ten times fast.

But Ian was angry. I could see it in the set of his jaw, in the distance he kept between us now. "This isn't about me! I've already told you. Why do you always think you can protect me? I can take care of myself! You don't need to baby me like some-"

"Like some older sister? Because I am."

"Shut up. I don't understand what I have to do with this. _I've _forgiven him-"

My fists snapped into tight balls, and I faced him full-on, walking a step up so I could look him in the eye. "That's the thing, Ian. How? How could you have forgiven him? He hurt you. He hit you, he was drunk, and it was _all _his fault. He does not love you, and he will never, ever love you. Why do you keep trying?"

Ian's upper lip twitched, his mouth opening and closing with nothing coming out. He leaned forward. "Have you always been this- this cynical? I don't get why you won't at least _try_-"

"Because it won't work, Ian. Because somebody will get hurt, and it's gonna be one of us."

"You don't know that! You haven't seen him in a year!"

"You said he tried to feel up the secretary at the apartment complex."

"That- that- ignore that, Okay? Just-"

"Ignore that? Ignore it like you've been ignoring every single sign that he's given you for the past _fourteen years _that our father is a freaking perverted douchebag?" The words spit out into Ian's face, venom that I didn't know I had in me coming out along with them.

I regretted it.

Ian was shaking.

I was not doing this. I wanted to sleep. Whatever had happened to sleeping?

"You didn't used to be this _mean_, Bailey. Why are you so mean? As soon as- it was as soon as you started hanging out with Seth. Is this because of him? Are you turning into some bitch because of _Seth_?"

I turned on my heel from where I had been about to stomp up the steps, irrational anger welling up all over again in my chest.

"_What?"_

"You were with him today, weren't you? You were. He's treating you like crap, and you're still with him. Maybe now _you're_ turning into crap."

He flung the words into my face, his own cheeks bright red. I wanted to reach out and shove him.

"Do _not _bring Seth into this."

"Oh, right, so sorry- Because he's just untouchable, isn't he? He's just you're perfect-" He sputtered for words, pressing one of his fists against the wall. "-_Perfec_t little boyfriend, who can do no wrong. Isn't he? Oh no, Seth will _never _do anything wrong, even when he knocks you up then skips town and-"

"You don't know _anything_!"

"I know enough! I know that he's an idiot, and you're a coward!"

I couldn't think of words. I was so angry, I was so angry I could, I could…

I shoved him. Not hard enough that he was hurt, but hard enough that I saw something in his eyes splinter.

He looked helpless. A kid.

That look quickly went away.

He slapped my hands away form where they had hung, midair, horrified at what I had just done. "You blame dad for hurting me? And then you-"

"No! Shut up! Just-"

"Coward! Freaking coward! You're gonna hide behind Seth the whole time, hide from dad, just because you're too much of a pussy to-"

"You're trying to put this family back together, Ian, but it's not going to work! We will never have a normal family. Our parents will never love us, they're never getting back together, stop trying to jam the puzzle pieces back together! _Stop!_"

I was shrieking at him by the time I was done. Hands on his shoulders, grasping them, begging for him to understand.

He lifted his hands like he was going to hit me, then dropped them and turned away.

Everything was silent.

I waited, and broke. And waited, and crouched down on the steps, trying to make myself as small as possible.

When Ian turned back around, he was wiping his eyes, trying to harden his jaw again. But I didn't miss the one trail that ran down the corner of his left eye, shining in the lights on in the kitchen.

I had made Ian cry.

"Ian," I whispered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. I-"

"Whatever, Bailey," he said, shoving past me on the steps. "Whatever. I don't care what you do."

He was walking up the steps, scrubbing his eyes on his shirt sleeve, but I couldn't end it like this.

Now, just for right now, Ian was all I had.

"I'm not a coward."

"Prove it," he called back, his words poisoned, stinging me in the face.

"How?" I sniffed. "What, you want me to go out right now? In the dark? To the gas station, and let him apologize?"

"Yeah. You should. But you won't. You'll be too scared. Coward."

He left it like that.

_ Coward, coward, coward…_

His birthday was tomorrow. He would be fifteen. Somehow, fifteen seemed a world apart from fourteen. But, for right now, he was still a kid. My kid brother.

I stood up, brushed myself off, checked my eyes for wetness, and was surprised when I didn't find any.

I was wide awake. I was walking out the front door, into the darkness, along the highway. To the gas station. My phone rang in my pocket, but I did not answer it.

I was not a coward.

**I promise! I promise there will be more Seth/Bailey! Just... not yet! Like, in a chapter! Hang in there! And I won't be doing any more ANs for a couple of chapters, so as not to break up the flow of the story, which is about to get very fast-paced...**


	38. The Devil

I could not help but feel like I was going to a funeral.

Not, of course, that I was going to die. I may be walking alone at night to meet my perverted step-father, but I was still a very self-preservatory person. I knew that I would come home very soon, just fine and dandy. Right?

Then why did each step away from the house feel so… _final_?

No, it was for different reasons that I felt like I was in the car ride, driving to the funeral hall. Because I knew that the bad thing was behind me, it was before me, but at the moment, it didn't touch me. I still had the chance of turning back. I could walk and revel in the relative peace of a highway in a small town at night, delusioning myself into thinking that I would never reach the gas station.

Or maybe I was just so tired and scared that my brain was coming up with a bunch of philosophical crap to make up for it.

That sounded about right.

There was only one moment when I hesitated. I was just walking out onto the front lawn, realizing just how dark the night was when you had to actually walk into it. The blackness seemed to physically press down on me, against my chest, making it hard to lift it up and take in air…

Like I said, I was tired. And so scared that I was quite close to pissing myself.

All of a sudden, a shaft of light had beamed right onto the spot where I was standing. The lawn lit up like somebody had just flipped the lights, the individual stocks of wet grass shining. I jumped, sure that this was some divine intervention, but when I looked back, it was not God.

It was my mother.

Her upstairs window was lit up. A bright square against a black house. I could see her silhouette twenty feet up. Had she heard me and Ian's fight? She must have. Was she wondering what I was doing? Did she see her young daughter, walking alone into the dark at nighttime for some unknown reason?

She either didn't, or did not care. The curtains were abruptly shoved closed, swinging against the glass of the window and muting the light. A couple seconds later, it went out entirely.

I waited. I waited for five minutes, staring at the door. I don't really know why. Maybe I thought she would come out and try to stop me- or was that too much to ask? Maybe just to see what I was doing. Or maybe Ian would come out and say that he wasn't serious. That I should get my butt back in the house right now before I got myself killed by my step-father.

Nobody came out to stop me.

That was fine, then. I wouldn't _let _them stop me, anyways.

As I walked along the highway, I tried to come up with some kind of plan. Or maybe a goal, or maybe just some kind of motivational phrase that would stop my knees from buckling out underneath me when the gas station, possibly containing he-who-shall-not-be-named (and unfortunately we're not talking Harry Potter)came into view.

It didn't work. My mind kept getting off track.

What did the occasional car, driving past, think of me? Of a girl in Soffe's, an ill-fitting t-shirt and a hoodie, by herself? If I were them, I would be worried about me. Heck, as _myself_, I was worried about me.

So why not turn back now, Bailey?

Because of Ian.

I would like to say that this was for myself. That this man who called himself my father had haunted and hurt me for the past seventeen years, and now I could never hear anybody laugh without remembering him, but it was _over_. That I was a strong, independent young women and I would fight him- _dammit_, I would _fight him _if he tried to hurt me again. That I was going to put closure on this whole life-fiasco, to peel him off like an itchy, beer-smelling wool sweater.

But I couldn't say that. I would be perfectly fine, probably better off, if I gave up and went home and had a snack.

No, this was for Ian.

And maybe Seth, because he deserved better and he did not need this additional screwiness on top of all the screwiness I had already created.

But it was mostly for Ian.

When the time came, when the climax of the story arrived, I almost walked right past it. The gas station, I mean. Wouldn't that have been funny? She's brave! She's determined! She's- whoop! Walked right past it!

Back on subject, Bailey. You may be about to meet your demise. Pay attention.

Anyways, I didn't. Miss it, I mean. I noticed the tiny parking lot at the last second, the little store that Ian had once described to me. _Fred's Quick Mart_. Ooh. Even the name invoked chills.

My heart beat jumped once, right into my throat, taking my breath with it.

It was dark.

_It was dark. Nobody there_.

Bloody hallelujah!

Oh. My. Gosh.

Only now, when I realized that maybe I did not have to put myself into this situation, did I realize how entirely scared I had been. Only now did I realize how my breaths were coming too quick and shallow and how my heartbeat shook my chest with each _thump _and there was a funny feeling that was at the base of my throat, like I was drowning, but my mouth was too dry.

It would be okay. My down comforter was awaiting me, less than a mile away.

Now that I was empowered by the fact that there would be no dying for Bailey tonight, I walked up to the store window. Just to be thorough. Just to say I gave it my best shot.

A lone street lamp was on a couple meters away. It shone vaguely onto the parking lot, just bright enough that it glared off of the windows and I couldn't look in.

The store was still dark.

So why did I feel like someone was watching me?

Suddenly, I felt entirely, crushingly, desperately, achingly alone. Nobody here. Nobody within screaming distance. I could very well bleed to death and-

Deep breath.

I could go now.

And I could've, because I had been thorough, I had even walked up and tried to see in through the windows. But then, Bailey, stupidstupidstupid_stupid _Bailey has to try to the door.

Just to be thorough.

I was not expecting it to open. Nor was I expecting the contents of whatever was hanging on the door to come crashing down, completely shattering the silence that was stretched across the night like cellophane wrap.

I froze. Bad, bad, bad, bad, go home. Abort mission.

_No._

For Ian.

I stepped into the store, and something crushed underneath my foot. I was all the way in. It was so dark that I could not see my hand in front of my face or somebody holding a knife right behind me. The door closed with a sick sounding _click_ behind me.

I was scared, no- I was horrifyingly _terrified_.

I did not know who was in here with me. He could be behind me right now, one hand already poised around my neck, the other already reaching down my shirt. My blood felt like it was trying to escape my body. It felt like it was burbling and bubbling up, pressing on my veins and my muscles and screaming at me to GET THE HELL OUT OF-

Something was pressing on my chest. My knees knocked against each other. My fingers groped the walls and found a light switch, fumbling and shaking and losing substance before I finally flicked it up.

Le there be light.

Yellow and warm but somehow very far away, it flooded the store. One hand came up to block my eyes from the glare, igniting the room into an array of plastic wrapped colors.

There were the Honey Buns that Ian ate all the time.

And there was the devil himself.

The devil, in dirty khakis. Dirty khakis, a skewed Hawkeyes hat, and a t-shirt with the breast cancer ribbon underneath writing: "I Love Boobies."

The shaking stopped. Instead, I froze. My body was encompassed in icy fear, numbing and blocking out every emotion except the one that was churning my stomach.

His face, two days unshaven, small eyes and thin mouth. His stomach, beer-gut straining at his t-shirt. I had reason to know that his stomach was soft, but his arms were harder than steel.

He was reclined in the swivel chair behind the front counter, eyes closed. Sleeping.

Not anymore.

He snorted, mumbling under his breath and turning into the chair. He stayed still for a couple seconds, then mumbled some more and rubbed his face with his hands.

Then he opened his eyes. And sat up.

And saw me.

He smiled. "Bailey." His voice was gravelly, accented. Bayuh-lee. The way he said my name made me sound evil.

"Well," he said, trying to get up but stumbling on the legs of the chair, then regaining his footing. He put his hands on his hips. "Well. Well, isn't this something? Fancy seein' you here, sugar."

And then he laughed.

I wanted to throw up. I was trembling, rocking back and forth without my own consent.

I would never move again. I would die here and maybe he wouldn't see me.

His laugh sliced into me, scraped and dripped down the walls. He sounded like he was choking.

"Did your brother tell you 'bout my little- my little _propsishun_?" Proposition. That was what he was trying to say, my brain told me, but he was slurring his words.

I did not care.

I was not here anymore. I was hiding within myself, safe inside my chest where I couldn't get hurt.

"I wanted to apologize to yah, sugar. And I gave you a little present. Sweet thing, sugar, wasn't it? Saw it and though 'a you." He took a couple steps closer, smiling, one front tooth missing. The smile looked innocent enough, but I knew how fast it could twist.

I could not move. I was gone.

"Whddyou think, sugar? We even? I jus' wanted to apologize, to apologize for… well… you know, sugar." He laughed. My body jerked backwards. He laughed more.

I closed my eyes. I was not here.

"Will you let me, sugar? Will you let me say I'm sorry? For you, for you and your ma… you been taking care of your mommy, now haven't you? Pretty little thing, but like dynamite once you got a few beers in her…" He laughed and laughed, and I died and I died. He took a few steps closer, knocking over a stand of Snickers bars. One hit my foot. "You will, won't you darlin'? Put up with that snicket of your brother for a while, seems like, doesn't it… Just trying' to get to you, right sugar? Let me back in. I won't hurt you. Never have, never will." He laughed.

And moved closer. I could smell him now. He smelled like something stagnant and alcoholic and dirty. "Let me back in, sugar. Please? Pretty please? For your old pops? I'm sorry, I'm real sorry, you don't know how hard it's been on me, seein' you and then not seein' you but seein' you in my mind and you're real pretty, you know that sugar? Purty. That's what you are."

He was so close now. I was beyond feeling. I was in hiding.

His fingers were on my wrist, pulling at my hand that was covering my eyes. Too rough. It felt wrong. "Look at me, purty. Purty sugar. Look at me, tell me you'll tell me you'll apologize. It's not just my job, sugar, we've all done things…" Harder, now. Pulling, gripping, at the bone in my wrist. "_Look _at me. Talk to me. I jus' wanna talk, jus' wanna talk…"

Both hands now, encompassing both of my wrists. His stomach pushed into my chest. He was much bigger them I was. There was some weird noise coming from him. A kind of gasping, kind of breathy, squeezing. I opened my eyes.

He black eyes were crinkled, grainy wrinkles enfolding them, water squeezing out from behind his eyelids. His mouth was twisted. He was crying, but I could not believe that the devil cried.

"Sugar," he gasped, closer. Right near my ear. "Sugar. I just wanted… I just wanted… let me say I'm sorry, I so- I so sorry…" He was going down now, he was shaking and lowering onto his knees.

His arms, steel arms, wrapped around me. Pushing me towards him, encircling me. I did not move. I was in hiding.

His face pressed into my chest. Tears wet the hem of my shirt. His words were muffled, he was shaking and I was shaking and I wanted to die.

"Let me back in, sugar, all I eva' wanted was a family, somethin' to call my own… you don't know how hard… for this old man… let me in, sugar. Everythin' for you. You scared, sugar? Of me? You should be scared, but I won't… well, maybe a little…"

He was sliding down now, face pulling my shirt down, going onto his knees and bringing me with him. Face pressing into my stomach. This was weird and wrong and I wanted it to end.

I was not here. I was definitely not here. I was back at home, back with Ian, back with Seth, away from here.

That reminded me. Seth. _Seth_. Why was I doing this? Because he deserved better. And my brother. My step-father had bullied me for seventeen years. I pictures Seth's face. What would he do if he were here? he would save me. Punch my step-father out and pull me into his arms and whisper it would be okay, and stroke my hair…

I woke up. My eyes opened. I was on my knees now, with my step-father. He was still crying, still mumbling, grasping at me.

"Sugar, sugar, sugar… let me in… all for you… you want to know me? I'll let you…" His hands on my shirt. Too hard. On my chest, rough and wrong and making me wince and gasp.

"No, no, now, don't be like that, come here sugar, don't be like that…"

One hand staying up, the other going down. On my Soffe's. Pulling at the wasteband. It did not feel good. It almost hurt.

I fought to come back up to the surface, to tell myself to move, but I was so _scared_. My hands would not hurt him, they would not even move. They would not push away his hands, pressing and grabbing.

I gasped. Harder. These were children's size Soffe's. At my thighs.

_No. NO. _I did not want this.

I broke through, just enough to push at him, at his chest, with my hand. He did not notice. He pressed his lips to my chest, slobbering over the skin.

I yanked my shirt back up. He noticed.

I did not want this.

"No, sugar, come on, just a little-"

Seth. Seth, Seth, Ian, myself. Bailey.

"_NO!_" My shriek echoed throughout the whole store, came back to echo in my ears. The devil jerked back, looking vaguely surprised. I whipped, flayed, scratched with my arms.

Anything to get away.

"No, sugar-"

I was not in hiding anymore. I was out, and I grasped at it. "No, no, no! Get away from me! Go away! No!" I kept screaming, determined to get through to something.

He smashed his hand over my mouth.

I kicked, on the dirty ground, trying to push him off of me. He was so heavy. I bucked with my head, tried to twist my body, writhed around on the floor. I bit his hand, teeth on skin, blood on teeth. Palm in face. Sting. He slapped me.

Spitting in my ear, Trying to grab at me while I fought, he was winning but I wasn't done. The concrete floor smashed against the back of my head. He was one my chest, laying atop of me. I could not breathe.

"You- you- _cunt-_"

I rolled over, bit him again, anywhere I could. Flailing with my arms, my hand finally met his skin. He gasped. He roared. I did not hear him.

I was free. Almost horizontal, but upright, against the ground, I ran. Feet churning underneath me, trying desperately to-

He lashed out with one of his arms, grabbing my ankle. I slammed back to the ground, my arms meeting stands and knocking them down,. My chin cracking against the floor. We were rolling, him on top of me. I screamed and screamed and he roared, wordless rage- _bitch, cunt, slut_. But I was not any of those things. I was strong.

His fingernails scratched my face. Something was hot and sticky and it was dripping down my face, down my arm where I had slammed into the stand. I was crushing things wherever I went, plastic wrappers popping around me. My knee hit something hard and I hear a _huff _and then I was up and free and not feeling anything and the door was shattering and opening and disappearing from me, and-

And it was quiet.

.

.

I could not feel.

I was on the ground. It was raining, and I was wet and cold.

I think I would die here. I think that sounded very nice.

I don't know how long I waited there for somebody to remember me.

"Bailey?"

Ian.

See? It was Ian. He remembered you.

He held up a phone in the air, like, what the hell. I don't know, Ian, I was preoccupied. "What the hell were you thinking? I didn't _actually _mean- and, I totally tried to call-"

He actually saw me for the first time.

He did not say anything. I closed my eyes, concentrating on an odd, gasping, uneven ripping sound coming from my chest. The sidewalk beneath me seemed to be moving, vibrating and scraping. My hands covered my eyes. I did not want to see anything more.

I wanted to go home and sleep.

"Bailey," Ian whispered.

And then _his _hands were pulling at my hands, but they were cold not warm and gentle not rough and my brother's not my step-dad's and they were _safe_.

I let him.

"What- what-"

Sometimes, there is a point where anger surpasses action. Where it surpasses beet-red faces and shaking and lashing out. Where it boils, deadly dangerous, beneath someone's skin, all venomous and waiting to jump out and kill something.

Ian did not shake. His voice was calm. "You need to go home," he whispered to me, voice close to my ear. "I will take care of this. You need to get home."

"I'm not a coward," I whispered.

"I know you're not, Bail. I'll be right back. I won't leave you. I need to take care of this."

"Come back," I whimpered, hands trying to press against my face again. He sat me up against the side of the store.

"I will. I'll be right back. You'll be okay, it'll be okay. You don't have to do that again. He can't hurt you anymore. I'll be right back."

And then Ian's hands, Ian's voice was gone. The door of the gas station opened.

I wanted to go home. That was what Ian had told me to do.

But what was home with a vacant mother and nobody to tell you it was all right? What was home when you were bleeding and shaking like a leaf and you had to walk along a highway to get there?

I slid down the glass siding and pressed my cheek against the concrete.

I would wait here. Until Ian came.

Time passed.

There was noise inside of the store.

I heard the door open, footsteps, but nobody came to me. It must be Ian, I told myself, intensely relived that he was okay. It must be Ian.

He was getting help.

He must be getting Seth.

It was raining. I tried to shut off my brain, to let myself sleep here on the concrete, but I could only think how in movies, it always rained right before somebody died.


	39. OOS, or Overreacting Older Sisters

_Ian_

Bailey. I love her, I really do, I just don't understand… how could she be so _idiotic_? Or is that just a girl thing? To overreact to everything?

Yeah, we fought. She was a butt and I was a butt and it was scary when she shoved me because I was worried she was turning into something she wasn't (not because it actually hurt, she weighs about seven pounds for God's sake), but then I saw how horrified her face was afterwards. I was _angry _and I called her a coward which isn't true and I probably shouldn't have. But what did you want me to do? Admit defeat and hug it out? Yes, she's my sister, but a guy needs to keep _some _of his pride.

Which was probably why I was feeling so sick right now. Because she could be in a less-than-satisfactory situation and it could be because I hadn't wanted to act like a baby.

Not that any of this should be my fault. She should be able to take care of herself. I just… I just didn't think she honestly knew _how_.

Alone? At _night_? Are you crazy, Bail?

Ten minutes after the argument I was throwing things around in my bedroom, trying to convince myself not to go back downstairs and apologize. She might still be angry, and then it would just make things worse. But, my sister… it was like she was a little puppy. _Impossible _to stay angry with. You're all yelling and pissed and stuff and then she just covers up her face and acts so _nice _and scared and tiny and you're just like… well, crap.

I didn't mean it.

Then my mom did something weird.

Weird my mom's standards, I mean.

I really don't like that woman.

Usually she goes into her bedroom at about nine and then we don't see her until she's awake and beating eggs into submission, but it just so happens that tonight I see her bedroom light go on. And then, lo and behold, the zombie awakens, and out she comes. She had this weird expression on her face- something close to… to _emotion_. Kind of scared, I guess. I don't know.

She walked to the edge of my bedroom. I kind of stared at her. She picked at one of her fingernails, not meeting my eyes.

"You should go check on your sister."

I didn't say anything.

"I just saw…" She gazed over her shoulder, looking slightly confused, eyebrows pinching down in what would have resembled worry in any other person. On her, it just kind of twisted up her features and looked unnatural. Or maybe that was just because she perpetually had that blank look that you see in small children.

She trailed off, then nodded her head, agreeing with herself. "You should go to her."

And then she met my eyes for a second, opened up her mouth then closed it. Waved her hands around, like they should be doing something, and then eventually went back to her bedroom.

I made sure her door was closed before I went downstairs.

If my _mother_, Mrs. Masquerade Mask, was concerned about something, then it had to be world-rocking. I just didn't want her to think that I had actually listened to her.

That was mean.

But, still, when had she ever listened to _us_? Well, to Bailey. I didn't give a crap for what went on between us.

I went downstairs, all ready to rush out an explanation before Bailey started crying or something. But she wasn't there.

And the front door was open.

And I had told her to go apologize to our dad at work, not ten minutes ago.

Shoot. Code red!

What was it with girls and overacting? That whole thing with Seth, too. He just annoyed me. Always had that smarmy grin on his face and was walking around in all of his six-foot-threeness like, 'I'm cooler then you.' And all the girls would giggle and be like 'come with me to the bathroom!' so they could giggle some more and laugh at every. Single. Thing. He said.

Somehow I found it hard to believe that he could really love Bailey.

I didn't know the guy really personally, so I couldn't say whether he deserved her, but I _did _know that she deserved not to have her heart broken. Ever.

Dad had already broken too many things.

There had been some times where I would have clocked myself in the head with a hammer to make her laugh and light up again. Anything so that she didn't turn into our mother.

There was that whole thing about werewolves- hard to think about, but I saw with my own eyes, so why shouldn't it be real? And when I told Bailey about the imprinting I thought she would just be like "well, that sucks" and break up with Seth. That's what I would've done. What was so special about him, anyways?

But then she started crying and running away and doing all this stupid stuff… Honestly, I wish I had never told her. It wasn't worth it. She was gonna get back up with him, anyways.

I swear to _God_, if that guy became my brother-in-law…

I was currently staring out our slightly ajar front door, cursing the footsteps in the damp grass. It was going to rain.

At _night_?

Really?

I was worried. My dad was… a little off of his rocker. A little wonker in his conker. I knew he had done some things to Bailey that I must not know about… But how bad could it be? It wasn't like she was permanently scarred or anything. I didn't think. She seemed more worried about me, and the teensy little fights that me and him had participated in. But that was what guys _do. _We fight.

If it had been _her_ I would've punched him out, but it wasn't. And she had enough to worry about. I could take care of myself.

Her?... Not so much.

Which was why, after I tried calling her and leaving a message, I set out for the gas station.

The lights were on. I did not know what that meant. My dad was just supposed to be crashing on the swivel chair or something until we found him some living quarters (um… yeah… I figured we'd cross that bridge at a later date).

I felt the first kick of fear in my stomach, and started jogging.

If he had so much as _scratched _Bailey…

But he had said earlier that day, seemingly sincerely, that he had just wanted to apologize. Why would he lie?

But even before I saw her, I was already getting this uncomfortable tugging in my gut. Like when you just instinctively _knew _something was wrong. Those lights should be off. Bailey should not even be here. I should not have been so stupid. If she was hurt, this was my fault.

I swallowed past the tight ball of guilt in my throat. I should've known. She was older, but in some ways Bailey seemed like a little kid. Naïve. I knew that she would throw herself against a brick wall for some people if they told her to, not thinking about consequences. She trusted people too easily.

She trusted me.

Crap. Crap, crap, crap.

I reached the parking lot.

And then I saw her.

Crumpled over on the sidewalk just outside of the store. And for a moment, for a horrific, stomach-wrenching, nightmarish moment I thought she was dead.

But she wasn't. She was very much alive. She was moving. She was shaking, so violently that I could see scrapes on her cheek where it was rubbed raw against the pavement.

She was too pale. Blood on her face, blood on her arms, limbs splayed awkwardly underneath her, the dark red blemish of a bruise forming over her cheekbone. Her clothes were messed up, shirt ripped at the neckline, waistband of her shorts unfolded.

"Bailey," I choked.

Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God. I was going to throw up.

I had done this.

_He _had done this.

My father had promised he would apologize, that he would smooth things over. It was supposed to be okay. It was supposed to put closure on it for her so that she wouldn't be afraid of him anymore. I did it for _her_.

And…

And…

Bailey was a nice person. She was good, she never hurt anything, she didn't eat animals, she was pretty much my only friend and he had hurt her and probably done things to her that were so abominably screwed up that I could not even picture it in my mind- and- and Bailey was nice! She was my sister! She probably hadn't even tried to hurt him back!

I _**hated**_ him.

But I loved Bailey more.

I tried to sit her up, to stop the blood from flowing into her mouth, but my hands were shaking. She felt too small. I felt like I was breaking her just by being too close. She was rocking in my grasp, breath choking in and out, hitching unnaturally. Her eyes were pressed closed.

"What- what-" What had happened? Should I even ask? Do I _need _to? What do I say?

What do I do?

I needed to kill _him. _He deserved to be _dead_.

I take it back. I don't want to go to hell.

He deserves to be punished. Preferably with my fist to his face.

Yes. That I could do. I could not fix Bailey, but I could do that much.

"You need to go home," I told her quietly, afraid she would flinch. The words didn't sound right- did I really want her to walk home, bleeding, by herself? But home seemed like the only safe place I could think of. "I'll take care of this."

"I'm not a coward," She whispered into my arm.

My insides twisted. I eased her to sit against the wall then backed away.

"I know, Bail." God, I knew. "I'll be right back. I won't leave you," I promised. "I need to take care of this."

"Come back," She said, her voice too high. I winced.

"I will. I'll be right back. You'll be okay, it'll be okay. You don't have to do that again. He can't hurt you anymore. I'll be right back."

I would. I would _not _leave her, bleeding on the concrete. I just had to punch the lights out of this asshole then I would go back and get help. Call somebody. Do _something_. Her blood was on my hands.

The store was a mess, and in the back of my mind I wondered how I would explain this all to Leah. A card table set up with snacks was knocked onto its side, plastic wrappers littering the floor. Hangers were on the ground, their contents being crushed and scattered beneath the knocked over swivel chair and shopping baskets. M&M packets had burst open, candy dotting the scuffed surface of the floor.

It was a mess.

Where was my father?

Was he going to fight me? Was he-

He was going to pop out from behind me. And of course he would hit me. Nothing had really changed.

It registered two seconds before it happened.

His fist smashed against the back of my head and I heard a pop, and a moment after profuse cussing when he realized how hard my head was.

Damn. The back of my head throbbed, but the sudden adrenaline rush overode the pain. I turned around, blindly swinging out, my fist unsatisfactorily ricocheting off of his arm.

I had seen the man only this morning.

He wasn't so angry then.

His face twisted now, lips pulling up to reveal a chipped front tooth. How attractive. I ducked, just in time to feel the swish of his fist ruffle the hair on the top of my head.

Just like when I was a kid. I knew how to do this.

I kicked, jerking my knee up, and he cried out in pain. His hands were on my shoulders, shoving me back, and I slammed against an aisle. I ducked again. Another punch. This one met his face. He grunted, then swore.

I shook out my hand at my side, glaring at him. There. I was done. I could do so much worse, but Bailey-

All of a sudden, things started moving too quickly.

His face was scowling and he was yelling and grabbing me by the arm, hauling me backwards. I tied to twist around but he jerked, nearly pulling my arm out of my socket, and my shoes were shrieking against the floor-

I grabbed onto his arm with my other hand, used it as leverage to kick him. Her jerked harder. I gasped in pain.

You know what? I was done. I would call the police. Time to get out of here.

But he was still jerking and I was still twisting and kicking but he was stronger than I was, and there was a door— the back room. The inventory room.

How long ago had me and Leah been laughing , right out side this door?

Right outside this door, where I was now biting his hand. He let go momentarily and I tried to bolt- but he grabbed onto my ankle. I fell. He was still pulling me backwards. I tried to flip. Tried to kick him in the face, but then I was in the air, his other arm grabbing underneath my arm. I was not strong enough. My head hit against the wall. I yelled out, tried to kick him or punch him or twist away or do _anything_, but he just cussed and his fingernails were biting into my skin-

No. No. I promised Bailey. I would not get out of here. It was too dark. I would not be able to see anything when he closed the door.

He closed the door.

I could not see anything.

It was so dark, the blackness clouded everything except the desperate need to get out, I needed to get out, to help Bailey-

An explosion of pain on my temple. I gasped, swinging out but meeting only the wall and a metal pipe. He yelled. Another _thunk_, this time in my chest. Something cracked. This should hurt. He just punched me in the chest. That should've hurt. Why didn't that hurt? It was so dark I need to get out, I was searching for the door handle I was-

His body slammed into mine. Boxes were toppling on top of me, tripping me, cushioning _his _fall. My shin banged into more of the metal piping, sending me sprawling forward, and I reached out blindly for anything to stop from falling. My hands met the corroded metal of a pipe, but it was too thin. There was the abrupt _shriek _of metal while it ripped from its hinged, and then broke off in my hands.

I was on the ground. The pole was ripped from my hands. He yelled. Called me some names.

I couldn't find myself. My head hurt. My chest hurt.

There was a thin sliver of light that illuminated an inch of the dark room, just enough to glint slightly off of the metal before it swooped down in a clean ark-

-and crushed into my skull.

I could feel an odd pressure. Something very wrong. Liquid running down my neck and soaking my hair and going into my mouth, metallic and oozing.

This should hurt. This should hurt very much. Why wasn't it hurting? Why could I not feel anything?

I hated him. I promised Bailey. I was scared. Who would tell her-

Something in my subconscious felt the rush of air when the metal of the pipe when it swooped down again, this time aimed towards my chest. The metal was sharp. My father was strong, and he was killing me. I didn't think he would actually kill me, he was still my dad, but the pipe was hitting me and I could not feel


	40. Ian

_Leah_

Life was looking up for me. Things with Bailey were cool, and once she and Seth talked, things would be cool with me and him too. I was pretty sure he was on his way to her house right now. In fact, if they followed the classic post-imprint-fight-tradition, they would be hooking up right now.

Okay. Ew. Too far.

I swung the car keys on their loop around on my finger, shutting the door soundly behind me, and started walking towards the gas station. It wasn't Ian's shift yet, which sucked, but-

I stopped.

Something was wrong.

Something in my stomach dropped an inch, and I looked over my shoulder, eyebrows pursing. A car drove by on the highway, nobody was there... Everything was fine. What was I thinking?

But the lights were on in the shop. That didn't make sense. Could I have left them on last night? Ian wasn't supposed to be here yet... I smiled a little, hoping that he came anyway. It wouldn't be the first time he showed up unannounced at the shop.

I stopped again outside the shop.

No. Something _was _wrong.

I could see through the glass windows. I could see the mess that the shop was. Thief? Who would want to steal from a _gas station_? I mean, unless you have a hankering for some Honey Buns or something, which, to my knowledge, Ian was the only person in the whole world who actually enjoyed those... I looked around again. There was nobody here, no broken glass or broken locks or-

There was stains on the pavement outside the store. Dark clouds on the white cement.

Okay...

I took a deep breath. Nothing to be afraid of. I was a big, scary, wolf. I could fight anything, nothing could hurt me, that was just somebody's coffee, not blood...

It couldn't have been a thief. Why would they have torn up the place so much? It looked like there had been some-some kind of fight or something... an animal? How the hell had an animal gotten in here?

The air smelled wrong. Metallic, something hot. Salty.

I knew that smell.

My blood froze.

Took another deep breath. I felt sick. Salty, like rust. And Ian. And beer. And Ian. He had been here, the place was trashed. Had he done this? Had he trashed the place while he was... while he was drunk?

It smelled like blood. This was what it smelled like when I killed something.

I trailed my fingers slowly across the wall while I took hesitant steps forward, unwilling to let my brain process things. The door to the back room was opened a couple inches, the handle crooked like it had been opened recently. I never went in there. It was dark and had rusted pipes sticking out everywhere and it smelled like cocaine and mold. And- I took another breath- blood. And Ian. But that did not make sense.

I shoved open the door.

Blood. Blood. Everywhere. Swirling around in my mouth and my brain and my hands.

I was not breathing, my chest too fluttery, my eyes going wide, hand clenching at my stomach. Trying to grab at that... at that _feeling_. When you know something is horrifically wrong. The cold feeling of dread that worms its way up your throat, bringing bile with it, making it hard to breathe-

I could not think-

He-

My brain tried to make sense of what was before me.

The room was dark, but the stains on the floor were darker. They smelled like animals and salt and they were blood. A pipe lay on the floor, one end almost touching the other, the other end obscured by-

Gouged into-

Blood-

It was not just him. Bailey was here. I could hear the sound of her wet breathing. She looked too small for the darkness and the blood. I could see her quivering body hunched over his still one, one hand holding onto his that would not

hold

back.

She looked up at me.

There was a pipe sticking out of her brother's stomach.

Her eyes looked too wide for her face, like they were trying to escape her body completely. She sniffled and wiped her nose, smearing a dark cloud just above her mouth.

"Leah. Leah, he's cold."


	41. On His Birthday

"He's _cold_," she repeated, her voice rising and breaking.

"Should I…" She bows her head to stare at Ian. "Warm… him up?" She looks at me.

"_No!_" I gasped. My lungs are struggling to take in air. I went down on my knees and shoved Bailey out of the way. Her hand, reached out to brace herself, slapped wetly against the concrete.

"No. No, Ian." I grasped his shoulders, shaking him. "Ian, Ian, _Ian, IAN!_" His body seemed to rattle in my hands, the skin on his neck straining as his head lolled back.

I let him drop, and stared.

He did not look dead. He looked like he was very sleepy. His face was pale and seemed to glow in the darkness, mouth half-open and eyes half closed. The parts of his irises that I could see stared blankly at me. I waited. I expected some kind of recognition, some kind of crinkling of the corner of his eyes. Maybe he would smile. I kept waiting, but all I got was this stillness that had seemed to settle over him like mask.

Bailey crawled back over and mumbled something, brushing hair gently out of his eyes. Ian did nothing.

The _body _that was _once_ Ian did nothing.

I turned and crawled out of the room on my hands and knees. The light seemed foreign. I vomited onto the dull linoleum floor, blood filling my head.

Ian was not dead. It did not feel real. It felt like I was watching a movie in somebody else's body because we didn't have any warning and I had seen him yesterday and he had been totally fine and I was going to apologize to him today. And he would eat Honey Buns and it would be okay.

He was not dead. He would wake up.

What was I supposed to do? Should I- should I clean up? All of the blood? Who would clean it all up?

911. I remembered. People in movies would call 911. So would I.

The phone from behind the cashier had been knocked to the floor. I stared at the numbers. 9-1-1.

_"911, what is your emergency?"_

"It- it's my boyfriend. He's not- there's- I don't think he's breathing."

_"Is he conscious?"_ I swallowed and went back to curl against the doorframe of the back room. Bailey had her forehead against his chest. Both of them were still.

I sniffed. "No."

"_Do you know what happened?"_

My hands shook, fingers scrabbling to keep hold of the phone. "Bailey, what happened?" She jerked up, as if she was surprised I was there. Her forehead had blood on it. Ian did not move. She stared blankly at me.

Oh my God.

Oh my God. Ian was not waking up.

My brain toyed with the idea, knocking it around in my head, still not believing.

Either he could wake up or he could not wake up and be dead and he would lay there until they took him away and stuffed him in a coffin and buried him under layers of dirt. And there would be no one left to love me or want to be with me and he would never eat licorice rope or frozen waffles or yawn or ring the little bell on the cashier-

_Ever again. _

Because he was gone. No more Ian. _Ce n'exist pas._

Bailey looked confused. She was still huddled over him protectively, like she was guarding him from every evil except for the pipe roughly shoved into her little brother's chest.

"I don't know what happened," I whispered. "He hit his head. There- there's blood everywhere." Why wasn't the 911 person doing anything? Why had she not sent anybody? Why was Bailey just sitting there like an idiot, looking like a little kid? It felt like my chest was breaking. This was not happening.

Bring him back, somebody. God. Bring him back. It shouldn't be too late. He's not in a coffin yet.

"_When did you find him?"_

"Bailey."She paid no notice this time. "When did you find him?"

She rocked back and forth, still staring. It took her a while to respond. Her voice was almost a whisper. "A- a few-few hours."

A few hours. She had been watching him be dead for hours.

"A few hours. I think he's dead. Please do something. We're at- it's a-a gas station. On a highway. Somewhere. It's near my house. I don't know where we are."

"_I have your satellite coordinations, we are sending the paramedics immediately. Do you know how to administer CPR?"_

I did. I think. But I did not want our last kiss to be bloody. "I- I don't remember." My voice broke.

"_All right. It's very simple, just stay calm-"_

I knew how to do this. CPR life course at babysitting camp, age thirteen. I never thought I would use it. Maybe I could get him to wake up.

But Ian had been laying there, all still and blank, for hours. Cold, Bailey had said, cold when I shook him. "I need to call someone."

I hang up.

_919-657-6682_

"Leah? Hello? She's not here. Bailey, I mean. She's not at her house. Are you at the shop, with Ian? Do you know where she is?" Seth picks up on the first ring.

I was not with Ian. I was not with Ian because Ian was staring blankly, not seeing, had been cold for hours.

No more. Gone. Gone, gone… What had I done? One more down. Was this life, or fate, or God? I think I could've loved him. I definitely loved him now that he was dead.

"She's here, Seth. You need to come."

"What… Is she okay?"

"Are you okay, Bailey?"

She answers me. "Who were you calling? Are they coming for him?"

"For the body?"

"No! For Ian!"

We stare at each other. She runs her thumb over the hand she holds. Her eyes are filled to the brim with tears and they shine in the dim light, but she does not cry. There is blood in her hair.

"No," I say to Seth. "She's not okay. Bring her mother." His poor mother. I hang up.

I feel very shaky and empty. I still don't quite believe this is happening.

I start to cry.

Not sobbing, like I did right after my father died and I slid down the wall in the hospital. But a painful, hot, heavy torrid of tears that I cannot stop. It felt like my insides were breaking and pooling and coming out as tears.

Ian could not be dead.

He is not. He coughs, blood splattering Bailey's face.

Both of us gasped. And then I was at his side, hands fluttering over him, trying to find something to do. He groans. His features are not blank. He is in pain, and it is so much better then blank.

"Bailey…" He mumbles, turning his head to the side.

"It's okay," she whispers. "It's okay, you're gonna be okay. I'm here."

I want to say something, but can't find the words. Instead I vow to tell him I love him as soon as he's able to understand me, and I grab onto his other hand—

The door of the gas station opens. The bell wakes me up and I blink and Ian is gone again.

It is the paramedics.

"In here," I call out, and my voice sounds so angry. I wipe at my hot face, smearing blood and snot and tears over my hands.

It hurts. Everything hurts. My mouth screws up in that way where you're brain is trying to convince you that you're happy and so it feels like smiling, while at the same time you're hunched over and sobbing.

A world with no Ian Clera. I would miss the things he said. There would be no one there to say them anymore. I would miss him, were he dead. But he is not dead.

The paramedics' eyes scan over us, noting that we are bloody but fine, and they focus in on what was Ian. They say things to each other that I don't understand, something about "bagging it," and then they ask Bailey to "step aside miss," and "is this your brother, miss?" Which she does not respond to just, grasps onto Ian's hand, and when they force her to move, she presses it to her face and watches from a distance.

They put something under his head, a mask over his face, connected to a pump. Pads on his marred chest. They are pumping air back into him, and it wheezes back out.

They have closed his eyes.

That makes me sad. Because now, I will never see his eyes again. I wish I could do something else, for the last time, like say goodbye or kiss him, but by then the people in the dark uniforms are swarming around him, and he's dead anyway, so why does it matter?

I realize our goodbye was the argument.

Everything starts to blur.

Bailey's mother arrives before Seth does. I briefly stop and think that I should wonder why, but then I realize I don't care.

I have never seen her before. She looks more like Ian then Bailey, except she is not dead and her face is not blank. She is in her pajamas. Her hair is black, and she is short, and then I turn away and stop caring.

Except maybe I do.

I realize that this must be very sad. Sad for her. To find that her child is dead. Ian did not like her- maybe she is a douche. Or maybe she realizes that after fourteen-almost-fifteen- years she was nothing but a douche to her son, and maybe she loves him, and maybe she is very sad because now he is dead and will forever think of his mother as a douche.

I would like her to start sobbing. I would not like to be the only one. She does not.

I watch her, as her socked feet pad silently over the floor. She almost steps in my puke. She stares at the scene before her, eyes seeming to pierce right past all of the doctors and Honey Buns, and right to her son. Very bloody and very dead.

Oh my God. I make a noise somewhere near a scream, but nobody notices.

She stares, eyes slowly widening in horror, fists clenched at her sides. Then she jerks around and gags, almost throwing up like I did. Except she gains control of herself when she sees Bailey.

Bailey is not okay.

She is not crying. Her lips are the same pallid shade as her skin, sickly pale and glistening with sweat. Now that she is not with Ian she stares ahead with a blank expression, lips moving and forming words that I cannot hear. Her hands are still pressed to her face and she is so small, all huddled up on the ground, that it would be easy not to notice her.

There is so much blood on her skin, yet I don't think any of it is hers.

Her mother sees her and her eyes narrow. She straightens, mouth twitching. She looks at Ian and then back at Bailey and at Ian and back again.

And then she covers her face with her hands, just like her daughter. She shakes, bending over at the waist.

"It's not true…" I hear her say. "It's not true, it can't be true…"

She sounds so sad. I want to help her. Nevermind. She is not bent over anymore. She is towering over poor Bailey, and she is screaming at her.

"You- _You did this_! You made him leave! He- he- I loved him, and you stupid- you ruined- Ian! Ian! You killed my- my baby!" She screams again, wrapping her arms around herself and sinking to the ground like she couldn't hold herself up anymore. Bailey grows smaller and smaller, paler and paler.

Seth comes in.

He must be horrified.

There is a dead boy and a psychotic mother and exasperated doctors not looking forward to telling his sweet sister that the only person she has left is dead.

And then there's me, and I don't know what he sees when he sees me. I still do not believe it.

Ian is not dead.

He _is _horrified. His hands rise, as if to shield him from all of the things wrong going on here. But then he sees Bailey, and has eyes only for her.

The women is screaming again. "I _hate _you! You KILLED _him! I hate you, I hate you, I-" _She is grabbing Bailey by the shoulders, shaking her like I shook Ian. Bailey rattles back and forth. Seth is on her. He has grabbed her by the arms, and the mother is sobbing and screaming and the paramedics look flustered. His hooks her underneath her arms and drags her away, her legs kicking and head bucking. Ian said that it was like she never felt anything. I guess that wasn't true anymore.

He lets go outside, and she drops to the ground, heaving, face pressed to the concrete. It is raining.

He comes back in, and a paramedic greets him.

"Hello, do-"

He brushes past her, right to Bailey. There is another medic near her, making sure she is okay, which is stupid, because I don't know if we'll all ever be okay again.

Seth is striding over, but he stops a couple of feet away.

She looks so horrible. I think he is afraid that if he does anything, she'll just snap right in half…

She still does not cry.

She sniffs, tucking her arms to her chest. "Is Ian gonna be okay?"

The paramedic hate his. "Honey…"

"Wha- what're you doing to him? Can I see him?"

"Honey, I'm sorry. But I have to tell you that your brother is dead."

Seth kneels down next to her, palms up, looking like he is dying. He does not know what to do. He wants to take it all for her, but he just doesn't know what to do.

Bailey stares. "No… No, but I- I saw him last night, he came, he was trying to help me… he's not… Is he warm again?"

"Honey…" She turns to Seth. "Are you another brother? Does she have anybody you can call?"

Seth does not answer, just stares at Bailey.

She blinks, and I see the wetness in her eyes, but she still does not cry. "No. No, but he can't be dead. Because… my mom… he's all I have left…" She turns to look at Seth. "He's not dead, Seth, is he? Tell me he's not dead."

"Bail…" He moves closer. She does not respond. I hurt.

"He can't be." Her face twists. "Today was his birthday. I made a cake. He had presents and we were supposed to…"

She changes.

She looks at the blood on her hands. Her eyes grow wide and her mouth opens in horror. I hear her suck in air, once, but I don't hear it come back out.

"He died on his birthday," she says to no one in particular.

Bailey opens her mouth, making a noise like she is being choked. One tiny little noise like she is drowning and then silence.

Seth cannot live with this.

He doesn't know what to do. He moves closer, on his knees, opens up his arms, ready to gently coax her to him, to not break her, because she's already shattering into millions of pieces.

Seth needn't have worried.

She opens her mouth like she is going to scream, but no noise comes out. And then she launches herself into his arms, grabbing his tee-shirt with her hands and covering her face with it. He envelopes her, tucks her into himself and tries to hold all of the sadness that she can't, bows his head and does not say anything, just holds her.

When she sobs, they both shake.

**So. Yeah. I've been putting off this chapter for a while... for obvious reasons! And though I'm flattered that you care enough... I'll be sad if people stop reading the story because of Ian! YaNoYaLuvMe, your reviews bring me extreme happiness (right back atcha babe), and I guess all I can say that Ian didn't die for nothing. Things will... things will level out. And Leah isn't imprinted on Ian, and yes, Seth felt the pull towards Bailey when she as in danger but he didn't really know what it meant and told himself that it was him being overly worried because of the argument they had. **

**I hope I didn't make people too sad! Thank you for reading! **


	42. Instruction Manual For Death, Anybody?

**Okay, sooo... This is quite hard to write, seeing as nobody close to me has ever died. This takes place a week after Ian dies, Bailey POV, and yes, the next chapters will be longer. I'm trying to not make the death not kind of swallow up the whole story in sadness (which is hard, seeing as that's what it is doing to Bailey), while not just brushing over it like nothing happened. And, yes, next chapters will be longer, and no, this story will not go on forever. Maybe... five more chapters? But it will all be tied up. I promise I didn't just have him die and then be like THE END! And there is a reason, and... Well, why don't you just read it when we get there? And thanks to the guest reader AWESOME for being so supportive and for all of the other anonymous readers who don't have PMs. **

"Black? It should... it should be black, right?" I clutched the dark shirt to my chest, staring at it in the mirror. "No, no... It's too morbid. And-and sad. Right? People will think I'm trying to be sad, won't they?" I dropped the tee-shirt. Seth caught it before it hit the ground and put it in the neat pile accumulating next to him. I moved on without waiting for an answer.

"Yellow? What... what about yellow? But... but isn't that too happy? People will think that I'm- I'm _glad _he's..." I trailed off, then threw the shirt behind me. Chose another one. "Purple? Do you think purple? Does-does purple mean happiness, too?"

Seth sighed, his russet eyes sad, and gently took the tee-shirt from out of my hands. "Bailey-"

"Should I be wearing a dress? Should I be dressing up? What... What is the most helpful thing to do in this situation?"

"Bailey." He fingers brushed against my forearms, asking me for permission, but I turned away.

"Will there be a b-body, Seth? Have they cut him- cut him open?"

He sighed again, and came closer to me again, hovering a couple inches away. He probably knew by now he just had to wait me out. Eventually I would let him in.

"I don't- I don't know what to do, Seth! You're all just- just not talking, and looking at me all sad and nobody will tell me anything. Nobody will t-tell me what I- what I'm supposed to do, or how I'm supposed to feel, or- or- or..." I trailed off, my voice choking up, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.

A moment later I felt Seth's arms wind around my waist, his warmth solid and comforting through the back of my thin sweater. He nuzzled my neck and waited while I calmed down, the feel of his breathing against my back calming the tears and quick bursts of breath. I took a deep breath, and melted back into him, resting my head against his chest. He kissed my temple.

"Fix it, Seth," I whispered. It reminded me painfully of our "first" day, the one in the parking lot. The first time I broke down in front of him. I vaguely wondered what could have been important enough to make me cry back then. Then, my life had been virtually perfect. Mother... well, mother was the same. Or maybe better. Father... all right, my dad was just as bad. But I had still had Ian.

"I'm trying, babe."

I turned around, his arms sliding against the fabric of my sweater, looked him in the eyes. He looked sad. I knew this was hard for him.

Hard, but it could be worse. I knew that the screaming and hysterics in the hospital had terrified him, caused him actual pain. I saw a trace of that pain now, but it was sustained. He could wipe away tears.

"What can I do?" He asked brushing a wayward piece of hair back behind my ear. He sounded like he was begging. "Is there _anything _I can do, Bail?"

_Yes, _I thought. _Just... just never let me go, okay? _

"Yes," I sniffed. "I need something to wear."

A ghost of a smile passed across his features, and it made me ache to see the full one. He looked about to argue, to say that it didn't matter, but instead picked back up the purple shirt. "Purple is good. And there's no body. You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"No, no, I need... I need to. Don't I?"

He didn't answer.

I peeled off the shirt in favor of the purple one. He averted his gaze, but didn't move away. I shivered involuntarily when his hands briefly brushed over the bare skin of my shoulders.

"You can look now," I said quietly after a moment. "You'll be there?"

He kept his eyes on the window, but I could see his features tighten in something that looked close to anger. It was gone when he looked back at me. "Of course I will," he said, pressing me to him with a hand against my hip. "Well, if you want me to," he amended, looking down.

I almost rolled my eyes. He should know better. _The answer is always yes, Seth. Always, always, forever..._

He moved to open the door to my bedroom, and without him I felt the pressing again. The pressing on all four sides of the walls, on my chest, water pressing against my eyes...

"You driving?"

"Sam will pick us up."

"No motorcycle?"

"I was under the impression you and the motorcycle weren't exactly the best of friends."

I shrugged. "Higher death risk."

There was a pause while what I said sunk in, and then he was in front of me, both hands on my shoulders. As if snatching me up and carrying me away would just fix everything. "Bailey. Bailey, don't _ever_-"

"I- I know," I said, brushing my hand over his. They softened and he let both of them drop, my hand safely enclosed in the one nearest to me. "I didn't mean... Let's go."

He lead me out.

You know, all things considering, I was actually doing pretty well. _  
_

I was following basic Survival 101. A technique used by Bear Grylls in the Tibetan wilderness: stay busy. Never stop.

And it was working. In fact, ever since a week ago, I had not had a twenty minute period of time to stop and think about what had happened. And the tears were always at the periphery, ready to just push their way in and drown me, but I had been able to stop them. I had not had a panic attack, nor started sobbing uncontrollably, nor curled up in a fetal position in the shower and turn on the scalding water and just lay there until I died. I had not broken anything or killed anything or killed myself. In the minutes I had spent without Seth, the sadness threatened to swallow me up. I felt shaky and empty and cold... but he always came back. Always knew when to smile and pretend I was all right and when to hold me together.

Busy, busy, busy.

And it was easy to find something to do. Between doctors and police questionings and visits from worried looking people whose faces started blurring together, and the legal arrangements...

I had no idea death was this complicated.

Especially when your father was, if found, to be put on the death penalty. And your mother was MIA.

The nights were all right. The doctor said that the nights would be hardest, that in the darkness I would probably feel abandoned. But they were okay. Seth was always right next to me, his warm presence in the bed as good as any dream-catcher, hand stroking my hair. And I was okay.

No, the hardest was in the mornings. Because I would wake up and it would be all sunny and the birds were out and I would remember something had happened, but in the back of my mind I was still expecting to see Ian in a couple hours and eat frozen waffles with him. I would forget that Ian was dead, and then all of a sudden it would rush back...

I found it easier to stay still, not wake Seth up and start him hurting too. I would stay still, keep my eyes closed, and try not to breathe. I would try to find a way around it. Sometimes I felt like I was drowning in the sadness. But... but this feeling, this feeling that nothing would ever be okay again, that would have to go away sometime, wouldn't it?

I would always be sad. But sometime it had to end... Not get better, but to be caught up in the fact that, you know what? That Was A Long Time Ago.

I hoped it would.

But I wasn't there yet. Far from it. It was only a week, and I had to live through Ian's funeral today. Ian, coffin, Ian, funeral... It did not make sense. Part of me still did not understand that my baby brother was dead, and I did not know how to convince myself.

But for now, I would just make it through his funeral. Seth would be there. Busy, busy, busy... One step at a time. Just make it through his funeral. It would be okay.


	43. Meant To Be

**Note: Sorry about the confusion, but let me just clear up that Leah did NOT actually imprint on Ian. If she imprinted, their connection would have been immediate, and his death would pretty much have meant her death as well. I'm not that mean.**

"For those who knew him, and from what we've..." Sam cleared his throat, glancing up at Leah. "What we've _seen _from Leah, Ian was a very bright young man. He was funny, received excellent grades, and was very... Very, ah, resourceful."

I smiled. _Resourceful _wasn't exactly a word I would have used to describe Ian, but I knew Sam was doing his best. He had never actually known him. His eyes kept darting back at Emily, making sure that what he was saying was appropriate, and she in turn kept looking anxiously at me.

I tried to smile reassuringly at her. Sam could have said that Ian had been a baby troll and it wouldn't have mattered much; without them, Ian would not have even been having a funeral.

"We know that the loss of such a... A young life is devastating, but I hope all of his loved ones-" He looked around, and seeing as I was the only real "loved one" here, amended his words. "Well, Bailey. I hope that his sister realizes that he is better hands now..."

I let Sam's voice fade to the background, and let my eyes wander away from him and towards the coastline. The ocean seemed subdued today. Waves broke half-heartedly onto the shore. Seagulls flew in circles above us, their cries piercing the steady pounding of the waves.

The ceremony was taking place on the beach. I had told Emily that I was afraid that Ian would never get any kind of funeral, but that I would probably rather die then plan one. She immediately said she would arrange something.

We were semi-circled around a large, pock-marked boulder. Emily explained that instead of having graveyards, the Quileute people would put the bodies out to sea. The boulder had served for hundreds of years as a kind of grave marker for all of the deceased.

It was very interesting to look at, and though we were about one hundredths Quileute, I knew that Ian would have thought it was cool. On the surface in white chalk and engravings were layers of inscriptions: names, hearts, crosses, and dates. I could just make out some of the more recent ones: _Lillian Pullen, 1924- 2000; Sarah Black, 1963-2002; Harry Clearwater, 1951- 2012. _

At the base lay yellow daffodils.

Sam's talk lasted about five minutes. I was grateful for him to do this, and grateful that he made it blessedly short.

There was a moment of silence when he finished speaking. I felt Seth's gaze shift to me, as it had done many times in the last few minutes.

Sam nodded at me. "Anything else you would like to say?" I was watching the waves recede, seashells tumbling across the sand as they were pulled back with it. It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me.

I turned back and shook my head. "No. Thank you."

People around me started to stir.

There was a shocked looking, red-haired boy here who I learned was Ian's friend and lab partner. There was one of his teachers, and there was me. The rest of the people here were all members of the pack.

I was touched that they had come, but also surprised and slightly guilty. Were they just here because Sam had ordered them? Because Leah had bullied them into coming, or because they just felt bad for me?

Embry had done his best to comfort me beforehand. He ended up muttering his condolences and clapping a hand on my shoulder, making Seth growl and my knees buckle.

"You know you didn't have to... Have to come," I told him. "I mean, thank you, but I know you didn't really..."

He had smiled sadly and shook his head, sharing a knowing glance with Seth. "I didn't actually know him, but Leah thought about him all the time. Now that he's... That he's, um, passed, her pain is our pain."

"Oh." I grimaced. "That must... Not be fun."

Embry had nodded grimly. "Yeah. Sucks to suck."

The pack members now looked as relieved as I felt that the ceremony was over. Quil stood up and stretched his arms over his head, and I noticed that even Paul had come, sitting in the background and staring out to sea the whole time.

I took a deep breath.

Funeral: check. I made it through. What's next?

"Oh, Bailey!" Kim ran over and threw her arms around me, effectively cutting off much of my air supply. "Bailey, I-I don't know what to say!"

"Kim-" I faltered, still getting over the shock - hugs were something I was unaccustomed to, unless it was a quick two pats on the back from a disinterested classmate, not wanting to leave me out in the end-of-year nostalgia.

It was great. I could get used to hugs.

"I know I didn't really know him, but- but it's all just so sad! You're poor brother! Are you all right? I lost my grandmother, and I know it's not the same, but I was just so sad, and-and- oh, I'm just so sorry!"

She pulled back briefly and I saw genuine tears shining in her eyes. And she hadn't even known him.

I think I rather loved Kim.

"Thanks for coming, Kim."

"Of course we came! You're family! Isn't she, Jare?" Jared had come up behind her, gently unwinding her arms from their tight grip around me.

"Of course."

"Absolutely. And if you ever need anything at all- I mean, I know you have Seth and everything, but if you just want to talk or cry or eat ice cream or _anything_, I'm here, okay? And, really, I'm so, so sorry... Ian..."

She broke off, her lip quivering, and then flung her arms around Jared, her face pressed into his chest while her breath hitched and she sobbed.

Her voice was muffled against Jared's shirt. "Oh, it's just so, so sad..."

Jared wrapped an arm around her and stroked her hair absent-mindedly with one hand. I had the feeling that he took the role of "comforter" fairly often. Not that he minded.

He glanced down at her, eyes sad and adoring, then back up at me. "Yeah, Bailey, like she said, if you ever need anything..."

I nodded. "Thank you."

"And I'm really sorry. About Ian. It's hard."

I nodded, then looked away, towards the ocean again. The wind had picked up, and it stung my eyes.

They said goodbye and started heading up the beach to Jared's car, Kim sniffling and clutching to Jared's hand.

It was hard for me to believe her words about me being "family." What made someone constitute as family? I had always thought that it was just someone you loved. If that was it, then in Kim's case, maybe I was family. She seemed to love very easily. That was nice. But everybody else?

No matter, they were all certainly very nice to me. Muttered "sorry"s from most of the guy members- I knew they weren't sure what to say, but the fact that they cared made me feel surprisingly... Happy? Not really. It made me feel cared for. Emily hugged me the way that a mother would, her soft dress against my arms. She smelled like her house, like family and muffin mix.

Seth did not leave my side.

Once people had started to draw away- walking down the beach or back to their cars, back to their lives because life _would _actually carry on per usual, whether I believed it or not- I felt his hand brush down my arm. I turned, and his eyes traced over my features. He was probably searching for some sign that I wasn't going to make it back to the car without breaking down.

He seemed satisfied with what he saw.

"Are you ready?"

"Yeah."

"Back to your house, right?"

I nodded. "I have to pack..."

He must have seen my discontent at that show on my face, even as I looked down. He touched a finger to my chin, and I looked back up automatically.

"It'll be okay. I'll help."

"There's just so much... Our blender is really old, and it weighs about a hundred pounds."

He laughed, and without thinking, I smiled. "Just because her children are werewolves doesn't mean that my mother isn't a normal person, Bail. We have a blender at our house."

"Oh," I said, my eyebrows going down. "Oh, right. I knew that."

I had two and a half months until I turned eighteen. Two and a half more months until I could live alone, go to college, get a job, whatever. Usually in these situations - when both parents were gone, with nothing left for the child - you would stay with a relative. I had a grandmother who I barely knew that lived in Port Angeles (Krazy for Kwilting!), but due to health issues she was not deemed an appropriate guardian. My other option was going to foster care.

Um...

No.

Seth's mother had pulled a few strings. And it wasn't too hard, in a town where there was a limited amount of legal officers,and they had all been in the same preschool class that she had been in. Who cares if it isn't strictly legal?

I would be staying with Seth until my birthday.

After that, I have no idea what I will do. But for now, things were worked out. And nobody could deny that it was the best place for me right now.

We started back across the sand, but I tugged Seth's hand to stop him. "Wait, Seth..." I looked around, back towards the boulder.

There was one person who I had not talked to.

"You can go back to the car." I nodded back towards the boulder. "I just want to make sure she's... okay."

He tightened his hold on my hand, looking worried. "I don't know if that's..." He looked at her, then back down and shook his head. "I guess so. I think she just needs time, you know? But you can try to talk to her. I hope she does."

I nodded. "You'll be right here?"

"Of course."

I bit my lip and started walking back towards the boulder.

Leah. Poor Leah.

She had attended the funeral, but didn't say anything. Now she sat at the base of the boulder, legs sprawled out in front of her. Her head rested back on the rock. One hand lay on the daffodils.

"Leah," I called out. She did not move.

I walked closer, until I was looking down at her. Her hair was rat's nest, tangled and choppy and spilling into her eyes. She had deep brown smudges underneath her eyes, and shadows over her cheek bones. Her eyes were closed.

I waited a moment, wringing my hands, then sat down next to her.

We both sat in silence for a moment, but it was far from quiet. The ocean still rushed behind us, the birds still called above us, and the sound of teenagers' yells from down the beach reached us despite the wind.

"Hey," I finally said.

For a minute I thought she wasn't going to answer. But then she lifted her head up and sighed, drawing her knees to her chest.

"Hey."

We looked at each other, both tried for a smile and both failed, and ended up staring at each other.

"Are you okay?"

She rubbed her eyes, her mouth barely moving when she spoke. "Yup."

"Oh."

More silence. But I was glad for it, in a way. She was really the only other person who knew what this felt like. It was kind of comforting to know somebody else felt your pain, to know that they really truly were sorry that Ian was dead. That they didn't have to say it for you to know.

"Really?" I finally asked. "You don't look like it.

She sighed again, and looked at me. "Thanks."

"Oh, no, I didn't-"

"Chill, Bail. I know what you meant."

I started to fiddle with my bracelet, but after years of fiddling the knot holding it together decided to give out. I stared at the dilapidated piece of string for a couple seconds, then brushed it off from where it lay on my leg.

"I think that once I believe it, I'll be okay," Leah started. "Right now..." She picked up my bracelet from where it had dropped to the ground, and wrapped it around her finger. "Right now I'll think, 'Ian is dead,' and it doesn't mean anything. Because I just can't..."

She looked at me, and I nodded. I understood what she meant. She looked relieved, and kept going.

"I keep waiting for it to be like, Ian is dead, I am sad, and that is it. But I'm not there yet."

I nod again, not sure if I should say something.

"It was the same with my dad," she mutters after a moment.

I wince. I ache for Leah. Sam, and then her dad, and now Ian...

"I'm so sorry," I say, because it works for everybody else. "You and Ian were kind of dating, weren't you?"

She shrugs. "Kind of. I mean, we kissed and I sort of loved him, but that doesn't change the fact that he was fourteen and I'm twenty-two." She grimaces. "_Gosh_, now that he's gone, that just sounds so wrong."

"Fifteen. He was fifteen," I add quietly.

"It wasn't the same as it was with Sam," she continues. I don't think she knows that it was his birthday. "Sam left me because he did not want to be with me anymore."

"That's not true. He just loved Emily more."

"Oh, excuse me. That makes things much better."

"Sorry."

She rubs her eyes with her fingers, shaking her head. "I just can't believe it... Is there something wrong with me? Is this my fault? Every single time I start to get- to get _happy,_ life just likes to kick my butt all over again!" Leah's voice starts to rise, and her hands rake roughly through the sand. "I mean, really? Really? After all of this, after Sam and dad, Ian, too? Really? I've never killed anybody or stolen anything or spit on babies or anything, have I? So why is this happening! I don't _deserve _this!"

She throws the sand out in front of her, some of it being whipped back by the wind into my face. It stings.

"I'm sorry," I say again. "I don't know why any of this happened. You _don't _deserve it. Nobody does."

Leah's face softens when she looks at me. The seagulls have gone quiet, and I realize that a storm is probably coming. I want it to rain right now, to soak me and wash away Ian's yellow flowers.

"What about you?" Leah asks quietly. "Are you okay?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I think so."

"You have Seth."

"I have Seth," I repeat. "Who do you have?" She looks away. "I'm coming to live with you."

"I know."

"Just for two months."

"I know that, too. I'm glad. Seth will be a lot happier, and mom always cooks better food when we has company."

"Do you know what I'm scared of, Leah?"

"Don't worry, our house isn't haunted."

I smile. "That's not what I meant. It's about Ian. His funeral... I was really scared that nobody would come."

She is looking at me, but doesn't really seem to know what to say. "Oh."

"Because," I continue, "When I think about it, I never really knew a whole lot about Ian's life if it didn't have to do with me. And there was that red-haired kid, but other then that... He didn't seem to have many friends, Leah."

"You don't need to slander his social life now that he's dead, Bail."

"That's not- that's not what I'm-" I struggle for the words to say this correctly. "I'm scared that he died without a purpose. I'm scared that he just lived for fourteen-fifteen- years, and then died... And never really did anything. Because if he didn't, then what is the worth in all of this? If nobody will remember him in a year besides from me-" Leah's eyebrows draw down, but she doesn't stop me. "-then why am I so sad? What was the worth in you loving him, in him dying? It seems like... Like a badly written book. Where you just have this main character that doesn't do much, and then he dies for no reason, and everybody is all sad, but all of the sadness doesn't have a purpose."

Leah looks up at the sky. "I'm sorry, Ian, that your sister feels the need to doubt you now that you're not here to defend yourself. I'll make sure to smack her for you."

"Leah!" I can't tell whether I'm about to laugh or cry. I look up at the sky. Could Ian possibly hear us?

"First off, Bailey," Leah says, looking back at me, "He didn't die for nothing. He was saving your butt. And second, he didn't live without purpose."

Something clicks in my brain. "Oh, wait, Leah, that's not what I meant. I know that you loved him and everything-"

"Well, yeah, he brought _me _happiness, but that's not what I'm talking about Bailey."

I stare at her.

"Ian told me about your dad." Her eyes abruptly turn dark and her fists clench. "Which, by the way, if they find him bring him to me, kay? I need to torture him before he dies. Anyways, do you think you would have survived all of those years with your dad _alone_? Think about what it would have been like if Ian wasn't there."

I didn't need to think about it. I might as well have been dead.

"I'm not saying that he was _meant _to die, but just that he was meant to be there for you, Bailey. I'm guessing he saved your life many more times then just what happened last week."

I blink up at the sky. He did. Ian saved me, over and over again.

Leah stands up, just as the first fat raindrop plops onto my forehead. "Also, Bailey, I was thinking. I was thinking about you and Seth, you and Ian... I think it was all kind of meant to be. You and Seth exist for each other. And I think it was just meant to be that you found each other, like, right as this all was happening. Our dad had just died, and Seth wasn't doing so hot. But then he found you. And now that Ian is dead, you have Seth. It kind of worked out."

My eyes abruptly fill up, my chest squeezing. "Y-you mean that Ian died, so that I could be with _Seth_?"

"No! No, that's not what I mean, idiot. Sorry. Not idiot. I just meant that, throughout all of the bad stuff, the timing worked out pretty well. You're both sad, you can both... _Heal_ together. That's all I meant."

"Oh," I say, wiping at the tears. "That's-that's actually really sweet, Leah."

She snorts. "Yeah, sure. And where does that leave me?"

So, all in all, as I met up with Seth and we started back towards the car, I knew that Leah was hurting, but she would be okay.

And that was all we needed.

**Let me just say that writing on the crappy keyboard of an iPad in a hotel bathroom, so as not to wake up your roommates, does not lead to the swiftest writing. To Eliza, I doubt I'll have it up by your birthday, but a Seth POV chapter is in the makings. I have about four more chapters left, so we're nearing the end folks, and I appreciate you hanging with me! :)**


	44. Hey Girl, I Could Be Your Noah

_**Seth POV**_

_**About two months later...**_

We were alone on the beach.

The darkness made the ocean pool out in an inky abyss before us, only a shade darker then the evening sky. The moon illuminated a patch of clouds right above the horizon that shimmered back in its reflection on the water, hundreds of miles away. If I had any interest whatsoever in painting, I would have wanted to capture the moment. It was beautiful.

But I only had eyes for the girl next to me.

I grasped her hand,swinging between us, but I could tell that Bailey was far away. Her eyes were not turned to the ocean, instead to the sky above us. She blinked, staring up thoughtfully. I wanted to brush my hand across her cheek, bring her back to me, but I was afraid of disturbing the fragile little happiness she seemed to have found.

Bailey had not cried for days. I could still see sadness in the set of her mouth and the crease of her eyes. I could see her straining around it, and I wanted to heave all of the sadness from her shoulders. Crush it with my fists or pummel it to the ground, or at the very least carry it for her. She was so small. I worried she would break. Her pain was a constant gnawing worry in the back of my mind, but it was getting better. Every time she laughed at something I said or smiled down at her shoes, it was like a clutch had been released from my chest. I could breathe again.

"Watcha doing?"

She jumped a little, her hand momentarily tightening on mine. Her eyes flicked to me, then back to the sky.

"Looking for stars."

I looked above me. The night is cloudy. There are no pinpricks of light in the milky charcoal above us. For some reason, I think this is sad. As if it wasn't _always _cloudy in La Push.

"They're there. You just can't see them."

She looks down and smiles. "I know. That's nice, isn't it?"

I think I know what she is saying, but I like to hear her talk. "What do you mean?"

"The stars are always, always there. Even when you can't see them, even when other things... Even when other things don't stay. The stars do." She looked down at the ground then, and I could see her eyebrows furrow slightly in the darkness. "Well, maybe not in a billion years when the sun explodes. But hopefully I'll be dead by then."

I smile. "For our purposes, I think it is safe to assume the stars will always be there."

She studies my face, and after a moment reaches for our hands twined together. She holds mine close to her chest. I can feel the warmth emanating from the hollow of her neck, and despite the fact that I run at 110 degrees Fahrenheit, I shudder.

"I like how you smile and nod after everything I say like it actually means something to you."

"_Actually_? Is it so hard for you to believe that what you say is really very interesting?"

"You make me believe it is." She is still studying my hand shyly, something I recognize as a habit. Despite everything, she is still shy around me. She finds other places to look then my face. I flex my hand, gently untangling her fingers from mine, and trail it up her jaw line. She turns her head into my hand. I can feel her lips against the skin of my palm.

We have stopped walking completely. Small moments. Moments like this, I tell myself. This is what matters.

"And you know what else will always be there?" I raise my eyebrows jokingly and she smiles at the corniness, but I hope she can see the truth in my eyes.

"Hm... Let's see... You?"

"Wonderful guess. And you know why?" Now she smiles fully and rolls her eyes, and I feel heat underneath my palm as she blushes. I move closer to her, bringing my other hand up to wind in her hair.

"Because I'm wonderful and kind and amazing, and you'll love me forever, blah blah blah."

"You forgot beautiful."

She raises her shoulders, turning her head to hide the blush even in the darkness. Like a timid little... kitten, or something. And just as fragile as one, I am constantly reminding myself. But right now I am not worried about her. It is just us and the moon, and her skin underneath my fingers is the softest delicacy I have ever felt.

She makes a shushing noise with her mouth, but I can tell she likes it. She is humble, but likes to be called beautiful. What girl doesn't? I will tell her she is beautiful every day. Anything to make her blush and smile, to do my best even though I could never justify the beauty that she holds. In everything she does... The flutter of her hands. The way her eyelashes shadow in the darkness.

I cannot believe she is mine.

"Are you finally believing me?" I think to when she explained how she did not think she was worthy of the imprint. How that was total bullcrap. It seemed cruel of fate to have me love somebody _this _much and not have them love me back.

"Maybe. No. But I believe _you _believe it."

I sigh slightly, ready to defend her, but she rolls onto the balls of her feet. Her chest is pressed against me, arms snaked around my neck. My hands tense, something new _zinging _through the air between us. My eyes travel down from hers to her lips, dark red in the moonlight and slightly parted. Every muscle in my body wants her to be closer. For her skin to be on mine, not between barriers of clothing. I try not to think about that. Bailey had been more..._distant _physically since Ian had died. I did not want to push her into something she did not want.

But all the same, as I tried to take a deep breath to distract myself, her scent comes rushing into my lungs. Sweeter then the summer air. Flowers in the sun. Something underneath, spicier, swirling like cinnamon...

I have to breathe through my mouth.

"_You _believe it," she says again, her eyes darting from my eyes down to my mouth. My hands slide down to her waist, tightening in their own will. "And I finally realize that's pretty much all that matters."

"No more running away? No more saying you hate me?" My voice almost breaks. I don't think she knows the effect she has on me.

"I never really hated you."

She doesn't answer the question. My heels sink into the sand as I rock back, my hand snaking behind to rest in the small of her back. I can feel the warm muscle shifting beneath her shirt.

_Enough talk_, part of me says. I take a deep breath. She is not sad, and she is talking to me. I can't waste this.

"I have a question," I whisper, so quietly she has to move even closer to here. Her lips are inches away from mine. One small movement of my head... "Why did you never tell me about your father? Did you not... Trust me?"

Just thinking of the words, thinking of that man, sends anger in red hot shards through my veins. When Bailey first told me the whole story, I could not believe it. And then I felt sick. And then I had the irrepressible urge to slaughter the man and keep Bailey in my arms for all eternity so that nothing bad could ever happen to her again.

"No. I've always trusted you."

She still does not answer. I wish I could read her mind. She still says so little, and the only effective means I really have to figure out what she thinks is by looking at her face, which is near impossible in the growing darkness.

And because I cannot tear my eyes away from her lips.

She is still oblivious, as close to me as she is, one of her hands resting on my chest.

"I just... I just never thought of it, you know?"

"You mean it never occurred to you that you might want to mention the slightly important fact from your childhood about-"

"No, it wasn't that... It was just, I was so happy around you. I was so happy around you that the world with my dad just seemed so far away. And it felt like while I was with you... Nothing could touch me. So no, it never really did cross my mind."

No matter what, she should have told me. I knew that, and was prepared to render anything she said as irreverent... Except for that. She had possibly said the one thing that might be able to justify me not knowing about her step-father.

I had made her so happy that she could forget about the horrors he did. I made her happy. Knowing that felt like some great big gift just handed to me, all tied up in pretty wrapping paper.

So I don't argue.

"Anything else important I should know?"

She starts to shake her head, but then stops, smiling up at me shyly. "Lots," she says, and I raise my eyebrows. "But I have to keep some of my... My feminine mystic, don't?"

I laugh and so does she, though it is probably because she thinks she sounds stupid and I think she is so sexy that it is hard for me not to bring us both down to the sand and kiss the smile on her face so that it turns into something else.

"Marry me."

She laughs. "Oh please, Seth."

"I'm not kidding."

She laughs, but her face abruptly turns serious. "You can't be serious, Seth. I'm only seventeen... You're what, fifteen?"

"Age is irrelevant when you're a werewolf. I would categorize myself somewhere around twenty three."

"That sounds exactly like something a fifteen year old would say."

I can tell that I will have to wait. Another time, maybe, when I have a ring...

"Fine. But if you won't marry me... Can you do something else for me?"

"Anything," She whispers, smiling sweetly. Now that my chance is here, though, I hesitate to break the moment... But only for a moment. She is too beautiful.

"Kiss me."

My words seem hazy in the beachy air, and I see a flicker of doubt run through her eyes. She opens her mouth then closes it again, eyelashes fluttering. She cannot really be scared to kiss me, can she? But of course she is. This is Bailey.

She tilts her face up, and it is as if the clouds part just so the moon can shine on her. Her hair glints in its light, a wild dark halo around her head, and her eyes shine.

I meet her halfway.

It has been too long. I have missed her.

I am reminded of last time, when we did this in her kitchen. But then I remember Ian had been there, and I stop that train of thought, as if just by thinking it might bring pain to her. I do not want to ruin the moment,

It is different than last time. Last time it felt like two giddy teenagers and puppy love, fun and playful and guessing. I no longer guess. I love her with all of my being, and I make her happy. Only two months later, but we had already been through so much. Doubt and death and fights. I will marry this girl and if she so chooses, raise a child with her.

I am sure.

Her lips are impossibly soft, and gentle as they are, my pulse quickens. My hands tense along her back. She sucks in a breath, her hands suddenly tightening along the hem of my shirt, and then meets me again, this time with more force. I am surprised when I feel her tongue flick against mine. She is not usually so bold. I take her cue and deepen the kiss, moving my hand to the back of her head to press closer.

But there is something not there. She is kissing me... But she is not fully there. I am reminded of when we walked hand and hand, but she looked at the sky, only seeing the clouds and not me.

I want to grasp her in my hands, to kiss the life back into her. But I stop when I hear her breath hitch.

"Bailey," My voice gasps, though I don't know if it is because of the kiss or panic. Her eyes shine with tears. Is it her brother? Is it me? Have I hurt her?

"I-I'm so, so sorry..." It must be her brother. "It's only been a month, I am taking this too quickly..." I draw back, bracing her away with my hands against her hips, but she clutches me with her arms.

"No," she says, her voice muffled with tears. And then again, stronger. "No. Please don't stop." She sees the hesitation in my eyes. I want so much to know what is hurting her. "Kiss me, Seth."

It is what she wants. That, coupled with what I felt before, makes it impossible for me not to bring us closer again.

And this time she has life. Her warm body melts to me, feeling impossibly fragile and small yet so powerful at the same time. I feel as though every part of me is touching her, drinking in her sweet smell. Her fingers rake down my back, pulling at the tee-shirt, and I know she can feel me shudder. But I am still hesitating. It is the small noise she makes in her throat that finally does me in.

I kiss her with everything I have, letting a muffled groan escape, feeling as strong and important as the waves crashing next to us. I leave my hands to go where they may. She is hot to the touch, and her skin twitches and shudders where my fingers brush. I move down from her lips, to the delicate skin on her neck, nipping softly than smoothing away the mark with my tongue. Lower still, to where her shirt clings to her damp skin...

"We should have done this inside," she gasps.

My eyes jerk back up. When we had talked about it, she was against the idea of making love so soon... But could she be changing her mind? Goodness knows I wasn't going to resist.

She laughs freely, seeing my expression and what it must hold.

"Easy, tiger. I only meant because it's going to rain."

And right as she says it, a drop lands on my shoulder, then on top of my head, until it makes a Notebook-esque (blame Leah for the fact that I have seen this movie, and I am unashamed to say that I may have shed a few man-tears during the last scene) transformation from mostly clear skies to a downpour.

She laughs again in exhilaration. We are soaked to the bone, both of our feet sinking into the wet sand as we run back to the house. The rain cools the spots where my skin still burns from her touch, and I never let go of her hand.

Bailey. My butterfly.

**So. Yeah. This took me a while... But never in a million years would I abandon he story, especially considering that aside from one more surprise, it is drawing to a close. YaNoYaLuvMe... I know we all want Bailey to completely move on from Ian, but it doesn't seem entirely realistic to do that, you know? Like, it's always going to be a part of her, though not always a bad thing. Hopefully everybody liked the chapter, and tell me if you get the title...**

**Thank you for those still reading! I won't make you wait as long again! :) **


	45. Living Again

**Happy Halloween!**

I swept my arm along the floor underneath my dresser, pulling out a dust bunny that resembled a small cat and a pile of clothes. Let's see... sock, sports bra, sports bra, sock, sports bra, sock, sock sock...

I took a whiff of the pile, gagged, then threw them all towards the overflowing trash bin that sat by the door. Next to the bin sat a pile of clothes in similar condition to be given to Goodwill, and next to that a small red duffel bag. In it, neatly set away was my ID, license, change of clothes, toothbrush, and life savings. And a big jar of peanut butter. Everything I could not live without.

I knew I had to pack as light as possible. And, I mean, it wasn't like I was going into the wilderness and would have to pull a Bear-Grylls and drink my pee every time I was thirsty. Hopefully, I would stay in big cities.

The only real personal-zation I had ever done to my room was in the piles of clothes covering up the carpeted floor, and with them all cleaned up you could barely even tell that somebody had ever slept here. All in all, pretty good. Twenty-two years of living all cleaned up in the span of about three hours. _  
_

I took a deep breath, putting my hands on my hips and examining my handy-work. _Last time_, I thought to myself. Hopefully, this would be the last time in a long while that I would look at the view of the forest out of this small bedroom window. Should I be feeling sad? Sentimental? Who knows? All I knew was that the only thing I felt was free. Free to do as I pleased and drive across the country and get laid and drunk whenever the heck I wanted.

I could not even count how many times I had thought of running away in my teenage years. But then the thought was always half a world away, something that was fun to think about whenever I was grounded in my room for silly-stringing the principle's car. And then, when I turned eighteen and it went from being categorized from "running away" to "growing up," I found myself not wanting to leave anymore. I had Sam. Then, at twenty, when everything fell apart, I still found myself unable to tear myself away. Dad died. I had voices in my head, and it had nothing to do with schizophrenia and more to do with wolfy-telepathic relations.

But now? Now I was free. And I would be _damned_ if I stayed in this God-forsaken town for one more week. For a while there I was cursing my bad luck: was I doomed to only choose the worst guys who would either take a plunger to my heart or go and die? But then I realized, hey, there's seven billion people in the world. That makes 3.5 billion of them guys. There has to be _someone _out there for me, and staying in a town in dreary northwestern Washington with a population of 1,000 was not really helping myself.

Funny, how it had taken a horrid break-up and the death of two men in my life for me to come to this self-realization.

And hey, if I didn't ever find a guy, who cares? Cosmo said chocolate had the same effect as sex. So really, what would I be missing?

I didn't know where I was going, but I was planning on someplace warm. Warm and sunny.

I zipped up the duffel after stuffing my cellphone and hand sanitizer into it. My mother was out shopping for groceries, and for that I was glad. I had told her, of course I had told her. What person would just pick up and leave without telling anybody (_coughcough_Bailey)? She had seemed sad, giving me the whole, "Oh, baby, everybody'll miss you..."

But, really, I think she was glad to have me out of the house. Ditto, mother dear, ditto.

I had_ not_ told Sam. Over my dead body. I was done with that man. But Seth would find out soon enough, and then the whole fricking town would know within a matter of minutes, so I figured I was covered.

I swung the duffel over my shoulder and started for the front door. Here we go, self. Your new life is starting _right now_.

God, I was starting to sound like Bailey, talking to myself.

Speaking of Bailey...

I abruptly stopped by the doorway that was temporarily leading to her room. Her room, three feet away from Seth's. Why we wasted the space was beyond me, because they always ended up in the same bed anyways. Seth firmly denied all the innuendo-egging leaded on by Paul, but I didn't quite believe him. Whatever.

It's wasn't exactly my place to get in on my brother's sex life.

I stared at the door. A sudden urge to tell Bailey about me leaving came up, and I tightened my hold on the duffel.

I should tell her. She was... She was...

She was my _friend_. Probably my only real, honest-to-goodness, no wolf-pack crap friend. We had grown close, especially in the past couple of months that she had been living in my house. There was something familiar about her, something comforting. She _knew _me. She was really the only one who really knew what it felt like to lose Ian. She knew that I could at times be a little less than a compassionate, nice person. She knew all that, and still she stuck around. She was my friend, completely of her own accord. She initiated conversation with me and laughed at my jokes, and if a hot guy walked past at the mall she was somebody who would elbow me in the ribs until I finally cracked a smile and admitted that, yes, he was good looking, but totally not my type.

Yes, I should tell her. That would be what a friend would do. All the same, though, she had so much to worry about already, with college. And the latest news of her father.

I knocked once on the closed door. "Is everything in here PG rated?"

I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Seth isn't in here, Leah."

"Oh. Cool."

I opened up the door, to find her in a bra and a pair of boxer shorts that looked suspiciously like a pair of my dear brother's, a habit all of the imprintees had that I will never understand. She had her hands on her hips, contemplating a dress that lay on the floor.

"Hey," I said, closing the door behind me.

"Hey. What do you think about this?" She gestured to the dress with her foot. Purple, short, a little flowy. Something I would never wear. She would look cute.

I nodded. "It's nice. Where are you going?"

Her face lit up, and she actually clasped her hands under her chin, Disney princess style, looking up at me with shining eyes.

Let me guess. Seth was taking her out.

"Seth is taking me to the state fair."

"Washington has a fair?"

"No. Oregon does."

"That'll be, like, a two hour drive."

"I know. But," And now she laughed a little and positively beamed, rising up on her toes, her face belaying much more joy then the question would normally have instigated. "The funny thing is, we _never _run out of things to talk about."

Now I smiled. Bailey. Bailey, sweet, stuttering, shy Bailey. She was a different person from when I had met her. I didn't know if it was Ian's death or the presence of Seth. Either way, she was starting to actually look people in the eye when they talked to her.

"What's the occasion?"

"It's our six month anniversary."

"Seriously? I get, like, year or something, but that's like celebrating the twenty-seventh Monday you've been together, or something."

She shrugged, pulling off the boxer shorts and stepping into the dress. "It was Seth's idea. And, honestly, it feels like we should just celebrate every day, you know? It's just, I still can't believe that he's here, and he's so amazing, and he's mine-"

"Remember who you're talking to."

"Oh. Sorry. You're still single, right?"

"Uh, yeah, not to mention his brother."

She giggled behind her hand. Force of habit, she said, not trying to cover her smile. Sure. And it had _nothing _to do with the fact that every time she covered her mouth with her hand, Seth would pull it away and tuck it into his before laying her a juicy one.

God. If anything, I was leaving to avoid the nauseating PDA problem everybody seemed to have around here.

For the first time, she noticed the duffel swung over my arm.

"Going somewhere?"

"Yeah."

She looked at me expectantly. I looked down at my feet. How to word this...

After a moment, she turned around. "Zip me up?"

I walked over to zip up the back of her dress, in the process getting a glance at myself in the mirror sitting against the wall. My hair was getting long, just how I liked it.

I took a deep breath. "I'm... I'm going away."

She smiled. "Yeah, I kind of had that figured."

"I mean, like, for a while."

She nodded again, and undid a knot in my hair from where it had gotten tangled in the duffel strap. I shuffled my feet nervously beneath me. "Like, I'm gonna go drive around the country and... I don't know, go places. And I won't be back soon. I don't know when, but maybe... a year?" I winced slightly when I said it, expecting her to look shocked or hurt or something. "I don't know."

She just nodded. "That's great."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Leah, if I was you I would have skedaddled out of here a _looong_ time ago."

"Okay, well, that's coming from a person who has a serious problem with running away, as previously demonstrated-"

She cut me off with a roll of her eyes. "I just meant that I think you're going to have fun. It'll be good for you. And..." She drew her hands back to her chest, fingering a button down the front of her dress. "You know, I'll miss you. And stuff."

I smiled. I had a feeling my mother had already told her about my plans. "And stuff."

"Do you think you'll stop phasing?"

"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it."

Her eyebrows drew down. "Oh sure you haven't, Leah."

"No, seriously. I mean, it'de be great to get away permanently from Sam... but I'm just going to see what happens. I don't really care wither way."

Her brown eyes lit up. "Maybe you'll meet up with more vampires."

My eyes widened in horror. "Oh, God, please no. I am doing this to get _away _from those blood-leeching monsters, not to go _searching _for them, Bail."

"I know, I know, but then you could, like, form some kind of solo-vampire hunting association! You could be like Buffy the Vampire Slayer! Except, you know, a wolf. And not as sexy."

"Goodbye, Bailey," I said, turning towards the door.

"Send me a postcard!"

I smiled, rolling my eyes on the way out. As much as I hated to admit it, I really would miss her. Though I was anxious to get going, I stopped with one foot out the door, abruptly remembering something.

I turned back to her. "Any news...?" I raised my eyebrows, and the cautious look on my face must have told her what I was referring to. Her face fell, turning downcast, and she drew her arms close against her. Like she always did when this was brought up.

She shook her head, suddenly very interested in the design on a nearby lampshade.

"No. Same stuff. The taxes thing, but they might be able to follow up on that with other crimes once they look up mor about him. They're looking at drug history. And maybe something to do with convicting him of damages. I don't know. Seven to ten years, still."

I nodded, not meeting her gaze. My stomach clenched with anger, but I didn't want her to see that. She didn't seem angry when she talked of it. Just tired. "Are you... okay with that?"

She nodded vaguely. "Yeah. In fact... I'de almost rather it be this way, you know? If he was convicted, then he would be killed by the death penalty, and it would be my word as the cause. This way, he's in jail and can't hurt anybody. And I won't have two people on my conscience."

My mouth dropped open slightly. I wanted to reach out to her. "Bailey. Bailey, you _know _that it wasn't your fault Ian-"

"I know, I know," she said, smiling ruefully. I got the sense that this was not the first time someone told her that. "Still."

I shook my head, amazed at the amount of conscious this girl had. If it was up to me, it would be off with her step-father's head.

After Ian's death, Bailey had pretty much accepted that her step-father was out of the picture. Never to be seen again. But then, a month ago, a letter came in the mail. She read it and promptly went to the bathroom and threw up. It was from the California police department, informing her that her father had been arrested for a minor offense of shop-lifting, and to their surprise they found the man that was quite literally on "Wanted" ads for the murder of a minor.

Chaos followed the letter. Phone calls, sad tears, angry tears, the look in Seth eye's conveying that the only reason he wasn't tearing down the house in anger was because he had Bailey in his arms. She said that she wanted nothing to do with him, let the police handle him. She didn't care. But it wasn't that easy.

Police questioning, DNA samples, court trials...

And then we got the news. The owner of Fred' Minimart, a (I cannot think of an insult bad enough, so just come up with your own) of a man, had cleaned up the damn supply closet. He had thrown away the video tapes. He did not want the murder of one of his employees to reflect badly on the gas station's business.

Now, a lot of cussing and screaming and blinding anger followed up the phone call with which this was revealed, but I'll just skip to the important part:

Bailey's step-father could not be convicted of murder. There was not enough evidence.

But our lawyer, a man who is the exact opposite of whatever insult you came up with, along with a little help from their Cullens and whatever persuasive powers they have (I would not be surprised if Jasper seduced the judge or something), we were able to keep him in holding, and have his "history" researched.

In the end, it was found out that he was already being looked for by the police for not paying taxes. On top of that, there was some suspicion having to do with drugs and minor stealing and some fraud bank check thing. I don't know. All I knew was that man was going where he belonged. Or rather, since we couldn't send him straight to the fiery pits of hell, the second best place. Jail.

Not for murder, but for not paying taxes.

Suck it, buddy.

There was a moment of silence, and then I walked over and put my arms around her. I was still a little awkward with this whole hugging thing. But she was a very nice person to hug, not at all bony or fluttery like my grandmother was, the only other person I had hugged in the past five years. She squeezed me tightly.

"Miss you, Leah."

"Me too."

"Seriously. Send me a postcard."

"I will. Don't go breaking Seth's heart, okay? And don't die, either."

"Absolutely not. To both of those."

"Okay. Good. Bye."

"See you."

I nodded, for some reason holding back tears. But the kind of tears that made my eyes sting, not my throat. Tears that did not feel sad. "Come back for Christmas!" She called out the door after me, and I smiled again.

Finally.

Goodbyes were over.

I was off and running.

My automobile of choice? Well, a Prius of course. As bad-ass as you can get. But hey, God knows that Seth would never drive the middle-aged-mom looking black car, for fear that he would be madefunp of when every other boy's car made a satisfactory _VRROOOOM_ and his started with a button and made a gentle humming noise. And it was free. My mother was giving it to me. And most importantly, it would cut my gas bills in half, all whilst saving the environment.

Whee...

I pressed the start button, turned off the GPS my mother had installed telling me to recalculate, and turned out of our driveway.

I beamed, to nobody but myself.

I was just pulling out of our absurdly long driveway when I noticed that we had mail. The retarded (Sorry, mom. Mentally incapacitated) mail man found it impossible to bring our mail up to our actual porch, instead making the owner of the house's children fight over who had to walk a quarter of a mile every other day in the sometimes below freezing weather in Washington winters to get the mail. I knew my mother would want me to bring the mail back to he house, since I was already in a car and all.

Because I was starting a new life and whatever, I decided I would. I would be a good person. I would bring the mail up, as one last little help to my mother, for a while at least.

I rolled down the window and reached into the mailbox, absently glancing at the mail there. Bill, bill, junk mail, Time magazine... And then a name caught my eye.

_Tracy Clera_

WTF?

Clera. That was Bailey's last name. I thought all of her relatives were dead, save for one grandma who wasn't exactly fully on he rocker. The only other person I could think of was her mother... Her mother? I thought she was kind of out of the picture as well. What could her mother want from her? As I recalled, the last memories Bailey would have of her was her shaking her and screaming at her.

You know what? Forget what I said about being a good person. I don't know who that letter was from or why it was sent, but Bailey had enough trouble already. When Seth came home from patrol he would bring in the mail, and then they could read the letter together. Whatever she went through, it would be better with Seth.

I put the mail back into the mailbox, and quickly forgot about it as I sped down the highway, windows rolled down. My hair fluttered in the wind. I had no idea where I was going, just that I would not be sleeping at home tonight.

I should have done this a long time ago. But better late then never, right? I was finally living my life again.

And you know what? It felt fricking AMAZING.


	46. Who Knew Mayo Was An Antidepressant

In the wintertime, the weather in La Push seems to hover tantalizingly right over the freezing point, without ever really dipping below 32 degrees. That means that instead of snow, we get this incessant cold, miserable rain that soaks into everything and makes you groan when you even think about stepping outside.

For the last two years I had braved it with an over-sized parka always zipped up to my neck. This year, I came up with a much more convenient solution: my own personal space heater. His name was Seth.

Coldness, however, wasn't the only thing in the air. At the risk of sounding corny, I could also say that you could feel love swirling around amidst the smells of hot chocolate and wet pine needles. And no, it wasn't just because of all of the clumps of dead grass Paul was prematurely hanging everywhere, calling mistletoe so that he could have an excuse to kiss the nearest girl and start a fight with their respective imprinter. No, it was because Sam and Emily were (finally!) getting married.

The newborn-army (they were actually recently-bitten vampires, not cute infants like I had originally thought) had come, and an epic battle had ensued. Apparently Seth was now some kind of hero throughout the whole Quileute community because he had helped kill the vampire chick in charge of the whole army. _I, _of course, don't know the specific details other then what I heard afterwards, because Mr. Buffy and Jared decided that they wouldn't even tell me and Kim that they would be off risking their lives, instead conveniently sending us off to an impromptu college tour on the specified weekend. Seth said that they wanted us to be safe. That we would have just lost our heads with worry when there was nothing to worry about.

_Me_? Worry?

Ok, so yeah, I would have undoubtedly spazzed and begged him not to go and he would have missed out on all of the "fun" that comes with ripping off vampire limbs. But seriously? Half of the bones in Jacob's body were crushed. What if something had happened to Seth?

He had earned himself a full ten minutes of silent treatment for that. But it's kind of hard to give somebody a cold-shoulder when they're kissing your neck and begging for forgiveness. He promised to tell me if he ever had to fight newborn killers again.

Jacob was gone. He had changed into his wolf form the weekend I was off touring Washington University, and had been there ever since. When I had asked why, Seth had looked sad.

"Girl problems. Bella finally ditched him once and for all. Don't worry, he'll come back around eventually."

Other than that slight blemish in the pack's happiness, everything else was almost perfect. Nobody had imprinted since Seth, and so all of the turmoil that had followed the rapid-fire imprinting of several of the pack members had completely died down. No fights, no new vampire activity. Sam and Emily decided to go ahead and tie the knot while the going was good.

I was really happy for them. Wholly and truly. The thought of them finally starting a family in their newly refurbished, cute yellow house brought a smile to my face. But I would be lying if I said that a flicker of worry didn't run through my mind, because immediately all of my thoughts went to Leah. She had been gone for a little over two months, and despite her promise to me all we had received were a couple of vague letters, saying that she was somewhere in Texas and was having the time of her life. In other words, with Leah it apparently seemed that no news was good news-and that finally she had found happiness.

Would the news of the wedding bring her crashing back down? Did she still have feelings for Sam? Emily had voiced her wish that, no matter how impossible it might seem, when her and Leah were children they had promised to be each other's bridesmaids when the time of their wedding came. Of course, that was before Sam and before werewolves and the chasm that had built its way between the two of them, but she still said that it would mean the world to her if Leah would even come to the wedding.

I had to make sure she would be okay. Leah had morphed into something close to my best friend in the past months before she had left, and I owed it to her. I remember calling her cell phone the day after I got the news of the proposal, my hands clutching onto the phone, my mind desperately trying to come up with a way to put the marriage so that it would be easiest for Leah.

On the last ring, right as I was about to put the phone back into its receiver, Leah picked up.

"Yello?"

I smiled. It had been a while since I had heard her voice.

"Hey, Lee. It's Bailey."

"I know. I have Caller ID. Was the only reason why I picked up. What's up?" I could hear music in the background, a loud beat the and the dull roar of a crowd of people talking at once.

I forced the words out before I could change my mind, before I could chicken out and tell her that I was calling because Victoria's Secret had a new line of push-up bras that worked really well and she should try one.

"There's going to be a wedding." I winced as soon as I said the words. Should I have told her to sit down beforehand? I hoped she didn't start bawling or something in public.

"Really? Sweet."

My eyebrows drew down, and I stared at the phone confusedly as if it were Leah. "Sweet"? That's what she thought? Well, that went over better than I had expected...

"Really? You think so?"

"Of course. God, Bailey, I told you my bitchy days were over. That's really nice. A little _earlier _then I expected, but whatever you guys want."

My confusion increased. Too early? It had been apparent that wedding bells would be chiming in the near future from the very first time Emily and Sam meant. At least she was being nice. After a pause while I tried to make sense of this kind, new side of Leah, she spoke again.

"So, are you going to give me some details, or what? It will be in-state, right? On the beach?"

And now she wanted to be their wedding planner? "Well... I mean, I don't know much yet. I'll be helping out, obviously, and you could too, if you wanted... Do you want to talk to her? Because I just thought I should call you first, just so you wouldn't have to hear her tell the story of the proposal for the hundredth time. Which is totally cool and all- he proposed to her on the beach during a meteor shower- but Seth is complaining it made his job ten times harder to find a way to propose that's more romantic than that. When the times comes, obviously, we're not there yet. Anyways, do you want to talk to her?"

There was silence on the other end of the line, and I looked down to see if I had somehow lost reception. "Leah? You still there?"

When she finally spoke, the background noise had faded, as though she had walked into a different room. Her voice sounded choked. "Bailey? We... We are talking about _your_ wedding, right? You and Seth?"

I blinked. Uh-oh. "Um." I gulped. "No. I'm talking about Sam and Emily. They're the ones getting married."

There was more silence on the other end, and I gripped onto the counter, rushing to get an explanation out. "I'm really sorry, Leah, I just wanted to be the first one to tell you. And they're just really happy, Leah, and I wish you could see them, because then maybe you could see-"

I stopped my gush of words, holding my breath, and praying that she wouldn't just hang up on me. It was true, though-when you saw them together, you could tell that they were everything to each other. They slow danced in the kitchen, Sam humming a song only for Emily underneath his breath, her face buried in his neck. They left post-it notes with hearts for each other, and kissed so much that the single members of the pack were considering making a rule concerning PDA.

But I doubted Leah would care about any of that.

Finally, she answered. "Is she pregnant?"

"What?"

"Is Emily pregnant?"

"Leah!"

"I'm just saying, like, if you want to get married, do it the summertime or something. She's probably trying to make it so that her bump doesn't show underneath all that white chiffon."

"No, Leah, I do not believe she is pregnant, but I'll thank you on your behalf for your consideration." I was laughing, thrilled that her initial reaction wasn't one of horror. Things seemed to be going fairly well, so I took another deep breath and decided to pull the band-aid off with one rip. "Do you think you could come? Emily would love it if you were her bridesmaid. I'm sure you wouldn't have to do anything or wear high heels, and there are only so many girl members in the pack."

Leah snorted. "Honestly Bail, did Emily put you up to this?"

"No! No, I just-"

"Yes, I'll go. On one condition."

I squealed and rocked up onto my toes, beaming into the phone. "Oh, Leah! Thank you, thank you, it'll mean so much to Emily-"

"Whoa there," She said, laughing defeatedly. "I said one condition."

"Anything, I'm sure. What is it?"

"Well- well, I don't know yet, but it's going to be good. Tell them to name their first-born child after me, or something."

And so that was that. Sam and Emily were getting married, Leah would be there, and there might be some poor little boy named Leah Uley about to enter the world.

Everybody was happy. Particularly me.

And not just because Leah would be attending the wedding, sewing back together bonds that had been ruthlessly ripped apart years ago. It was because everything in my life was starting to fit together. It was because I had a family and a future now. It was because I looked forward to waking up in the morning, and because Ian's death was consistently with me, but it had ceased to always be a bad thing.

Whenever I met somebody new and the words seemed to get stuck in my throat, I would think of Ian. I would think of him laughing at me, teasing me for being so awkward. And it would help. And instead of those "What Would Jesus Do" bracelets, I might as well have been wearing a "What Would Ian Do" bracelet. People always liked him, and when I thought of him and talked to people, sometimes I would make them laugh. _With _me, not _at _me. It felt wonderful. At the very least, it made me feel better. As if he was closer to me. I was keeping his memory alive and well, frozen waffles and all.

Seth was the one who noticed the biggest change. He commented to me one night while we lay on the couch that he noticed I had stopped talking to myself. After I moved past the humiliation over the fact that he had noticed that, I realized that what he said was true. I no longer had to question myself, to keep up an inner monologue to make sure I was doing the right thing. I trusted myself.

Nowadays, if any conversations took place in my head, they were geared towards the sky. To wherever he was. It was crazy, but I felt like he could still hear me, from wherever he was. And not in a creepy, talking-to-the-ghost-of-my-dead-brother way, but in a comforting way. Like if I ever got into a pickle, Ian would be watching me, ready to provide support with a sarcastic comment.

Of course, it wasn't always easy. The day after Halloween I was shopping at the local supermarket, and I saw a little boy. He had a shock of dark hair, and was pulling at his mother's hand, wanting to go look at the Hot Wheels in the sale section.

I had seen the little boy before, once or twice while I was walking through town. Not uncommon, taking into account the town's measly population. But for some reason, on that day, he just reminded me of Ian so much that I could feel myself breaking, right there in the supermarket. I ended up bursting into tears in the condiment section, amidst Pa's Finger Lickin' Good Worcestershire Sauce.

I had stopped, momentarily startled when I felt a feather-light hand on my arm. When I turned around, blinking furiously, I saw a short women who appeared to be in her late seventies. She wore tennis shoes and high-waisted jeans, with Rudolph-embroidered sweater. The pom-pom on Rudolph's nose bobbed about cheerily as she took the mayonnaise I was currently holding in my hand, eyeing down at it condescendingly.

"Come now, hon. That mayonnaise is not _all _that bad, now is it? No need for tears. I can show you better mayonnaise, just the way I like it, very creamy. My husband- he's over there, his name is Paul, say hi, Paul-loves to shmear a good glob on his egg-salad sandwiches. Don't you, Paul? Here, hon, here's the good mayonnaise. No need for tears."

And then she had shown me the good mayonnaise, oblivious to the fact that the reason for my tears went beyond a mixture of eggs and oil. She asked me what my name was, introduced me to her husband Paul, and then sent me on my way with a package of cookies, because apparently I needed to fatten up a bit for the holidays.

And you know what? The tears stopped. I did not have to call Seth to come get me. I went home and told Emily that the shopping had gone just great, and we should be getting a new brand of mayonnaise.

Since then, I discovered the trick to getting through the "bad days", the days where everything would remind me of the missing piece in my family. I figured out that I shouldn't dwell on it. I should go out and do something useful- I would go for a jog, help Emily cook, or make an art project with Claire.

Or, like on this November morning, I traveled across town to a small condominium, decorated cheerily with gourds on he front porch.

I was visiting Tracy Clera.


	47. Lost And Then Found

"Hey, mom."

"Oh! Hi, honey." My mother pocked her head out from the side of the refrigerator, where she was adding food-filled Tupperware to the growing pile in her arms. "Sorry, I didn't know you were coming. I would have cleaned the kitchen up a bit."

I rolled my eyes, going over to help her move the food from the refrigerator to the counter. "You know I don't care. What's all the food for?"

"Oh, well, I was just thinking about how I have enough Thanksgiving leftovers to feed a small country, and I didn't want them to go bad, so I figured I would just make a stew or something."

I picked up one of the plastic containers, taking a look inside. "A mashed-potato and cranberry sauce stew?"

"Absolutely! I read an article in Good Housekeeping about how cranberries can instantly add exotic taste to anything. Do you think I should make it water based or cream based?"

I smiled to myself. Though almost everything else had improved about my mother, her cooking skills were not one of them.

About four months ago, I had received a letter from my mother. My initial reaction when seeing the wrinkled paper, words blurred with what looked suspiciously like tear stains, had been one of disbelief. After everything... Everything that had happened, everything she had done... And now she wanted to come back into my life?

But as I continued reading the letter, Seth to my side with twitching hands and nervous eyes staring at mine, my thoughts changed. Was this too good to be true? Had some pod person come and replaced my mother with somebody who felt _emotion_?

I kept reading. She told me how her son's death had made her wake up. She thought about killing herself, but instead went to a doctor, where she was diagnosed with depression. It was no excuse, she said, but now she was on medication. She would not hurt me anymore. She begged for me to find it somewhere inside of me to forgive her enough to see her- just once, just to let her tell me in person how sorry she was.

Seth said no way in _hell_. But Emily and Kim read the letter and said that they, as fellow women, thought I should meet her. Emily said that it could do no harm, and that if she really meant it, she was hurting just as much as I was.

Maybe even more.

And so she came to our house a week later. In the beginning, it was awkward. She had shook Mrs. Clearwater's hand, and attempted to do that same with Seth, but he kind of snarled at her and tightened his hold around my waist. But I could see clearly that she had changed. Her eyes were red rimmed and sad, but at least they held more then a blank, grey wall. I could see her hands tremble as she looked at me, and when she spoke it was like I was meeting somebody completely new, not the person who had given birth to me and been there for the past eighteen years of my life.

But after the initial conversation boundary had been broken, it was as if she had been there all along. My _real _mother. I had been missing something in my life and I had never even fully known it until she brought up Ian for the first time, and she hugged me in her arms while both of us cried.

I finally had a mommy. Not only in body, but also in person.

I visited her at least once a week. We talked freely. I learned more about her past, about how she had started breaking. It turns out that she had struggled with depression since she was seven years old. Two years after college she found a man who she loved- Guy #1. They were soul-mates, and he made her forget about the sadness that she said hung over her like a heavy wool hat. He was in the army. They did triathlons together, and he liked to cook homemade pizza. They were to be married, and she was pregnant.

And then, a month before their wedding, he was sent to be stationed in the Middle East due to the tension in Kuwait. Two weeks later, he was one of the few unlucky ones killed in Operation Desert Storm.

Her husband-to-be was dead.

And five months later, she went to an ultrasound and she found out that her almost full-term baby had died inside of her. She attempted suicide, failed, and instead became pregnant with me.

I understood a lot more about my mother now. And I had forgiven her whole-heartedly. Not because anything really justified what she let happen to me and Ian, but because forgiving her was just moving me one step closer to becoming whole again. And besides, now that I had a "real" mother, I could not imagine how I had lived without her.

I helped her start to arrange the left over food-stuffs (Thanksgiving with the pack was a spectacular event, and in my opinion should be listed under one of the seven wonders of the world- they actually had to have it in a church's banquet hall because there physically was not enough room for the amount of food _and _the amount of overgrown men). Ever since she had returned, I was told that I looked a lot like her, except for her short-cropped hair. I could see that now as her blue-grey eyes lit up, her hands flying up excitedly and flinging little onion bits she had been chopping.

"Oh my goodness! I almost forgot. I got you something, Bail."

"Mom, you didn't have to-"

"Of course I didn't _have _to, I wanted to." She rummaged around in her purse for a minute, and then pulled out a small white box. When I opened it up, I found a necklace. I held it up- small, pearly white beads, strewn along with tiny flowers, carved meticulously out of what looked to be turquoise. I smiled.

"I love it."

"You do? You really love it? It just reminded me of what you usually wear, and it will go so pretty with your skin."

"Can you help me put it on?"

"Sure, sweetheart. Let me just clean all of this onion goop off of my hands."

And so she put it on, and I helped her cook until I heard a knock on the door. Right on time, as always.

"That's Seth. Do you need any more help? I'm sure I can get him to let me stay."

She crinkled her nose. "No, go ahead, I have the feeling that he doesn't really like me so much in the first place."

I nodded. It was true. Seth tended to hold grudges when it came to anything that had hurt me.

"I'll see you soon?"

"Come over any time you want, honey. Anytime." She hugged me tightly, and her arms no longer felt like lifeless balloons encircled around me. They felt like home.

"I love you, Bail."

I was suddenly filled with the irrational urge to cry, except not from sadness. This was something that I might never get used to, and that was all right with me. "Love you too, mom."

I picked up my coat, and then started heading out the front door.

Seth was waiting for me.

**Hello everybody! I'm back! As somebody said, I have not updated since October... So I just wanted to get these two chapters up. In the next one there will be enough Seth/Bailey sweetness to put icing on a cake the size of Mount Everest. And I promise, promise, PROMISE (like, really, I promise), that will be up tomorrow. And then if there's not anything else anybody wants me to add or something, other then maybe an epilogue...**

**Well, I guess that'll be all, folks! **

**But we still have one more chapter, and I still have to show that Bailey is the luckiest girl in the world (at least when it comes to boyfriends). So, until tomorrow! :)**


	48. The Beginning

**Wow. Well. This... this is surprisingly emotional. Forty-eight chapters, over 100,000 words... and all we have left after this is an epilogue! I will take the time now to THANK EVERY SINGLE PERSON who has every reviewed/read/fovorited/all that jazz my story, and this would have just stowed away in the dark corners of my brain if it weren't for all of the support that you guys have given me. Yes, there will be an epilogue, though I don't know how I will do it or when it will be set... but it will be up within the next week. **

**My next story will be another "cliche with a twist" like this one, except this time it will be: Guy imprints on girl, life forces girl to get out of town for ten years, girl comes back much sexier and surprises guy who has been living in a deep dark depression for the last ten years because his object of imprintation left town. It will be focused on Jacob/Renesmee and Claire/Quil, and I will probably start writing it sometime around Christmas. So... I won't shamelessly ask for author alerts, but I would love it if you would keep your ears (eyes?) open for my next imprint story. **

**I won't write an AN in the epilogue, so I guess this is it! I appreciate any final feedback, and thank you once again for reading! :)**

Seth, Seth, Seth. Everything and wholly. Past, present, future, and forevermore, all wrapped up in one furry package.

Always Seth.

Took me a long enough time to figure it out, too. _Eeeh, he imprinted on me! I've got to throw a huge fit because this an inhumanely handsome and equally amazing guy is in love with me! _God. I was such an idiot.

Oh, well. We had the rest of our lives to make up for lost time.

I could see him through the glass panes of the door, his muscular (yes, baby) frame taking up most of the space on the small vestibule. With his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket, he craned his head to look in the house expectantly.

I often thought of how I could explain how Seth made me feel, but every single time my brain just seemed to come up with a loss for adjectives. How could it be that somebody could make you feel so happy, even when they weren't speaking a word? How could a single smile make it feel like your heart was just filling up to the brim with love, ready to gush out of your fingertips and fill up the room? How could, even when you were fighting and seething and about ready to rip their head off (Seth briefly did not allow me to get a driver's license because he did not think I was capable of driving a car without hurting myself- which was stupid, because that one incident was _totally _the squirrel's fault) you still loved them so much it hurt?

And how could somebody be this sexy? I mean, seriously. Call me biased, but I almost felt bad for the rest of the male population. They didn't even _compare_, especially not in that leather jacket of his.

I stuffed my arms into my own jacket, already feeling myself starting to beam. _  
_

I took my time walking over to the door, widening my eyes and fluttering my eyelashes at him through the glass door, doing my ridiculous best to look half as attractive as he did to me. He smiled, his eyes not leaving mine, and pressed his palms to the door. I did the same, my hands looking as small as a child's, pressed opposite his against the cold glass. I could almost feel his heat already seeping through the doorway, warming me up. I could imagine the feel and smell of the inside his jacket, where he had tucked me many a cold night on First Beach during the pack's bonfires.

My breath fogged the glass, and I drew a lop-sided heart in it with my finger, trembling slightly with the cold. I could see his dark eyes watching me, seemingly captivated with my brilliant artwork. When I was done he cupped his hands over the heart, fogging up the pane on his side, and then wrote "Bailey" inside of the heart. His eyes crinkled up at the edges when he smiled at me.

I loved him. So much.

I finally opened up the door, and made sure it was fully closed before I launched myself at him. Due to my non-athletic tendencies and my midgetness, I probably would have ended up face-planting somewhere in the vicinity of the rock-hard muscles on his stomach. Instead, he caught me.

He laughed, wrapping his arms underneath me. "Hey, you."

I giggled. "Hey, yourself."

"Everything went all right?"

"Of course. My mother is making some kind of cranberry-turkey glop, and-oh! Look! She gave me a necklace. Do you like it?" I moved one hand form where it was wrapped around his neck to finger the necklace, feeling the delicate flowers between my fingertips.

He raise his eyebrows. "Your mom gave you that?"

"Yes. And just because it's from my mother doesn't mean that you can't like it."

"Hey, I never said that. You look beautiful." At that moment a gust of wind blew, and I shivered, shrugging my shoulders up to my ears to stay warm. He frowned slightly and let me slip gently to the ground, automatically wrapping one side of his jacket around me as we started walking back to his waiting motorcycle.

"Seth, why does it have to be so darn _cold_?"

"I don't know. Maybe just 'cause you're so hot."

I rolled my eyes. "You're hilarious."

"I try." He leaned his head down, burying it in my hair where it met the fake fur of the hood of my jacket. "But that's why I'm here, right?"

"What, comic relief or your heat-vent properties?"

"Both," he said, nuzzling into my neck. I laughed and scrunched up my shoulders again, tightening my grasp around his waist.

"Seth, what-what're you _doing_?"

"It's not my fault you smell so good."

"Oh, I'm sure."

"You do. Good enough to eat." He made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a growl in the back of his throat, and while I was distracted nipped gently at my ear. I laughed as he trailed pecks down my jawline, ending at my lips as I tried to swat him away. This was a public place, you know. I wouldn't want to give my mother's elderly neighbor a heart attack or something, what with the fact that whenever Seth started kissing me we somehow ended up on the ground at some point or another...

But, of course, I was just laughing and not paying any attention and ended up nearly tripping over my own feet. Not a big deal, because Seth was supporting half of my weight anyways, and just lifted me up wedding-style before I could go _splat _on the wet pavement.

"Clumsy Bailey," he said, finally stopping his merciless attack (okay, him kissing me isn't exactly what I would call an _attack_, but it had the same incapacitating effects). "What am I going to do with you?"

"Well, this is fine," I said, swinging my legs back and forth against his arm. We were at his motorcycle, but now that I was in his arms again there was no way I was going to let him set me back down. "You could just carry me around all the time. I wouldn't mind, really."

"Believe me, neither would I, except what would your professors think?"

I groaned. "Ugh, college. I'de almost forgotten about it over break."

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing, Bail. Going to college is furthering your education, you know, "together we make history" and all of that," he said, quoting their website.

"Yeah, but going to college is also kind of kicking my butt," I said petulantly, thinking of the mid-term exams that were coming up in about a month.

He laughed quietly, setting me down on the motorcycle and getting my helmet from where it hung on the handlebars- God forbid he ever take into account his _own _safety and wear a helmet himself, but Bailey had to wear one, no 'ifs' or 'buts' about it- and helping me slide it past my hood.

"Hey, at least if the going gets too tough you can just skip out and become a preschool teacher. You don't need a degree to teach preschool, do you?"

"Thank you for being so very supportive, Seth. And no, you don't."

"Just sayin'. And besides, in two years you'll have the best study partner ever." He took a moment to smile at me angelically and kiss me on the cheek before swinging his leg over the side of the motorcycle and get on behind me.

"Right," I said, rolling my eyes and laughing. "Because we'll get _so _much studying done together."_  
_

I was pretty sure that I would be able to muscle on through four more years of college, and wouldn't have to resort to doing as he suggested. It wouldn't be so bad, though- I was planning on getting my degree in teaching. Being around Claire all of the time had made me realize just how much I loved kids. They were funny and innocent and made finger-paintings for you, and the idea of spending seven hours a day with them for my job actually made me smile. Yes, I was not the most prepared for the amount of work that came with college, but story-time, multiplication tables, field trips to the fair- that was what I wanted. Not for older kids- God forbid I ever have to step into a high-school again- but maybe first or second grade. I was already planning on being a teacher's assistant for my fourth semester at a local elementary school, and I was surprised by how much happiness just the tours and visits to the elementary school had brought me. I was going to be a teacher.

And, as strange as the thought may seem, me and Seth had already talked casually about it. In ten years or so I would need all of the help I could get with children of our own...

I leaned back and tucked my feet up, ready for Seth to kick the igniter. At the last second, though just as the roar of ignition started underneath me, I reached out and put my hand on top of his. "Wait, Seth."

It was a miracle he heard me, but he clamped down on the clutch immediately. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I just..." I trailed off, thinking of how to word my question. Thinking about family, thinking about our future children, always inevitably brought me back to Ian. Not in a bad way. It just made a little piece of my heart hurt to know that our kids would be lacking an amazing uncle. This particular time, thinking of Ian dragged up another question in my brain that I had been meaning to ask Seth, and I felt like I shouldn't put it off any longer.

"I have a question. About Ian." I could feel Seth immediately shift behind me, moving his hand from the handlebars to rub up and down my arm comfortingly.

"I was just wondering... And I might be wrong... But it seemed like you never really liked Ian very much." I stopped his hand from where it was making its pattern on my arm, instead hold of his and bringing it down to my lap. I ducked my head, pretending to be very interested in the way his fingers interlaced themselves with mine. People said that I should not be scared to talk about Ian, because avoiding it forever would just make it all that more painful.

And talking about him wasn't painful. Not really.

"And I'm not mad or anything. I've just been wondering why that was."

I felt his chest rise and fall as he sighed, and he brought his other arm around me. "You noticed that?"

"Of course I did. If I recall correctly, there was a point when you two were threatening to kill each other in my kitchen."

"Okay, well, this is going to sound stupid. But if you want to know the truth..."

"When have I not?"

"Right. Well... I was- I was jealous."

"_Jealous_? Of Ian?" I twisted around in my seat to look at him incredulously, and he didn't meet my eyes.

"I told you it was stupid."

"I don't think it's _stupid_," I said, giggling at his sheepish expression. "I would like to know why, though."

"Because you loved him. And at that point, you didn't love me, and I would have given anything for it to be turned around."

I bit my lip to hide a smile. "But he was my _brother_, Seth."

"You loving me like a brother would have been better than nothing."

Okay, everybody all together: _awww... _I leaned my head back against his chest and smiled up at him. "In that case, then it is kind of stupid."

"I told you, I-"

"Because I've kind of been in love with you since the first time I saw you, three years ago."

He looked down at me. "What? But I didn't even know who you were until the end of last year."

"I know. And that was why it kind of stinked, because here I was, hard-core crushing on you-"

"You liked me? Before I imprinted?"

"Yes! I was practically pining myself away every study hall. Did you not know this?"

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Because- because it's embarrassing!"

"Why didn't you ever talk to me? Did you?"

"No! I was terrified of you. Well, not _of _you, but of making myself an idiot in front of you. I was still totally awkward and couldn't say two words without passing out, remember? You wouldn't have wanted anything to do with me."

He laughed. "I beg to disagree. I can't ever imagine _not _loving you. I was the one who was awkward- I'm kind of _glad _you didn't know me in 8th grade. I was a little dweeb who still though SpongeBob was the coolest thing in the world. My manly image would have been forever ruined."

I laughed and released his hands to go back to the handlebars, nestling deeper against his chest. "I love you, Seth."

"Love you, Bailey."

And with that he started up the motorcycle again, about to push off of the curb-

My hands flew to my neck. "Wait, wait, wait!"

He clamped down on the clutch again, abruptly cutting off the mechanic roar. "Do you plan on having us stay out here all day, Bailey? The neighbors might call us out for loitering."

"My necklace," I said, twisting around in the seat to look at the pavement that lead up to the house. "It's not... it's not- oh! I see it." I gestured to where it lay on the pavement a couple feet away from us. "_Somebody _must have broken the catch," I said, eyeing him pointedly.

"I wonder who that could have been." We looked at each other for a moment, and I gave him my biggest smile. He returned it with a sigh and rolled his eyes, already putting down the kickstand.

"Yes, your majesty." I giggled as he got off of the bike to retrieve the necklace. Even in the couple of seconds after he got off the wind seemed to pierce right through my heavy jacket, making me shiver. Except I barely had time to even think about how I was surely going to get hypothermia at any second, because at that moment Seth had to go on one knee to retrieve the necklace from the ground.

And the necklace wasn't really that far away, just a couple of feet.

And yes, I was kind of on a motorcycle and he was holding my own necklace, but still- he was _on one knee_. Facing me. And my breath caught ridiculously in my throat and he looked up at me and it must have taken a moment for him to realize why I was staring at him like I had just seen the light, but when he did, he pulled something out of his pocket.

He cleared his throat. "Bailey. Bailey Clera. Will you..."

Oh my gosh. OH. MY. GOSH. This was it. This was it, he was going to ask me to marry him and this would be the man I would spend the rest of my life with and have children with and get old and die with and-

"Will you wait for just a second?" He held up the cellphone he had taken out of his pocket. "I think somebody just texted me."

I slapped my hands down on the metal siding of the motorcycle as he stood up, tucking the cell phone back in his pocket. "I-I- I hate you! Oh my gosh!" I tried to shove him, but he just wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his head on my shoulder while he laughed.

"What? You didn't- oh, you didn't think I was going to _propose, _did you?"

I couldn't cross my arms because of his hold around me, so instead I made the best pout-face I could muster.

"I was under the impression that somebody wanted to wait a couple years for marriage. Of course, if I am somehow mistaken then I most certainly will go ahead and propose, just in a slightly more romantic place then the road right outside of your mother's house-"

"I still want to wait," I said, turning my head away as he tried to kiss my cheek. "You just- you just had me going for a little bit, there."

"I can't imagine why," he said, ducking his head to kiss me on the other side. I could feel my anger already cracking. It was true, I _had _said I wanted to wait for marriage. That was still cruel, though, whether or not it was pre-meditated.

"You can't just go down on one knee and then- and then _not _propose."

"I would have, if I thought you'de say yes."

"I would say yes."

He drew back to look at me, a smile growing on his face. "Really?"

"Well, maybe," I quickly said. "Probably. But don't get any ideas! I still fully want to wait. You just took me by surprise, that's all."

He smiled and shook his head, gently moving my hair aside with one hand to fasten the necklace around my neck before getting back on the motorcycle behind me. "And remind me, exactly, why you want to wait?"

"Because you're still kind of young, and-"

"Bail, you have _got _to get over this whole age thing. The werewolf thing screws with age. I'm telling you, I'm like, twenty-five."

"I believe you," I said, giggling. "Otherwise, do you think me, a respectable adult, would be caught dating a lowly sixteen year old?" He rolled his eyes and I laughed. "But still, even if you are actually in your twenties, you were still born sixteen years ago."

"And how does that make a difference?"

"I don't know. But that's what I count as your age. And I at least want to wait until you're actually, like, twenty-one. At least."

He sighed and leaned his head against my back. "Twenty-one? That's _five whole years _away, Bail."

"Patience is a virtue."

"I don't think I'll survive."

"If you love me enough, you will."

"Hold on," he said using his hand to bring my chin around so I was looking at him. "In your book, that means _five years_ until sex, right?"

I laughed at his expression, turning my face into my hood. I yelped as he grabbed me around the waist, his fingers pressing into my stomach. "Bailey," he groaned, "You are going to make me go _insane_."

Would I actually make him wait five years to marry me? Maybe. The sex thing? Maybe.

Well. Probably not.

It depended on how strong he estimated my will power to be.

But the thing was, I loved how I could say things like that with certainty. I loved how I knew- right down to the core of my being- that in five years, we would still be together, still be hopelessly entangled in puppy love. In ten years, too- twenty, fifty. For as long as we both shall live.

* * *

_Later That Day_

"Seriously, guys? Seriously? I-I can't do this anymore. The next two people I see who are kissing, or... hugging, or showing _any _form of physical affection- I will kill. I will kill both of you."

"Geez, Embry, calm down-"

"No, Paul, I'm not gong to calm down. No offense, Rachel, but you guys make me want to eat a baby and then throw up on myself, and then-"

"Embry! They weren't even-"

"Oh, _you're _one to talk, Colin, you and your girlfriend were practically having intercourse on the living room couch last week-"

Seth nudged the door of my bedroom closed with his foot from where we lay on the bed, effectively cutting of the noise of Embry complaining from downstairs.

"I wish he would just go ahead and imprint, or find a girlfriend or _something_," Seth said, shoving the _Principles of Education _book he was currently helping me study from off of the bed, moving to run his fingers through my hair. "Maybe then he would understand why we just can't seem to keep our hands off of each other..."

Realizing that our study hour had pretty much just disintegrated, I moved my binders so that they joined my textbook on the floor. He moved to trace my face, one rough thumb tracing down my jawline. After two hours of studying, though, I was pretty much done with tedious and gentle. I kicked off the wall and used my leverage to roll both of us over, my palms landing on his chest, straddling him in my jeans.

"_Rowr_," I curled my upper lip, and pressed my fingers into the muscles on his chest, giving him my best ridiculous expression of something that could be construed as sexy. He gave me the his smile that I likes best, sloppy and crooked, slowly lighting up his whole face.

"Oh my gosh. I do think that was the sexiest thing I've ever heard. Do it again."

I laughed and felt ridiculous, but nonetheless made the noise again in the back of my throat. His hands tightened around my butt and then he abruptly sat up, kissing me with what I could only as something akin to ferocity. I pressed my hands against the wall behind his head, my knees pressing into the soft mattress on both sides of his thighs.

But then he drew back, leaving me surprised and panting. I raised my eyebrows and could see his face change. His eyes turned mischievous, a little smile curling up one side of his mouth impishly. His hands slowly moved down from where they had pressed to the back of my head, gently and lightly, just skimming over the fabric of my tee-shirt. And then I felt his hot fingers at my waist, asking, intrepidly starting to pull up my tee-shirt. I felt myself breathe in sharply and he stopped, but then I let myself relax.

Off came the tee-shirt as he slowly slid it over my head and arms, leaving me bared in front of him in only my bra. This was the first time he had actually seen me like this- his hands had been in the vicinity, of course, but never really with the lights on, and I caught my breath as his eyes roamed over the top half of my body. I felt so exposed, so sure that he would find some imperfection or flaw, and I could feel my hands shaking, wanting to come up and hide my chest.

Seth smiled, his eyes coming back to meet mine, and he lovingly tucked a piece of hair behind me ear. "Beautiful. You're so beautiful, butterfly."

I don't know quite what would have happened next, but at that exact moment Embry chose to loudly open up my door, the old doorknob grinding against the wood.

"Hey, Seth, can you- Oh. My. Gosh. _Can I not walk ten feet in this house without_-"

The moment was ruined, but both me and Seth were laughing. He wrapped an arm around me, his bare skin searing into mine, shielding me from Embry's view with his body. "I'll be right out, Embry. What was that you were saying about PDA?"

And so, I reluctantly put my shirt back on and Embry eventually came out of the bathroom where he was supposedly "washing his eyes". The whole entire pack had come over to Mrs. Clearwater's house for dinner that night, to give Emily a much-needed break. The house was so full with people and laughter that you could barely stand up to get second helpings, but I had come to figure out that was just the way that everybody liked it.

I had one more day of Thanksgiving break, and as per usual Seth joined me in my bed that night in my designated room in the Clearwater household. Earlier incident aside, we actually were just _sleeping_, much to Seth's growing frustration. But he could wait for a while. Five more years. Aren't I evil?

Everything felt like it was within my reach. Happiness, marriage, children, a family. Ian was dead, but he would always be with me, and on that night I could almost hear him sympathizing with Embry about the shows of physical affection being displayed.

I could see the stars outside of the bedroom window, winking at me.

"I love you, Bail. Forever and always."

"Forever and always," I repeated. And then I kissed Seth's cheek, and we fell asleep.


	49. Epilogue: With Love

_Dear Bailey,_

_ARE YOU PREGNANT?!_

_Just kidding. _

_CONGRATULATIONS, girl! Can't really say that I didn't see it coming, what with the fact that you two were just SO nauseatingly in love the last time I visited (and, you know, because Seth told me he was going to propose). Emily called the day after but I wanted to hear the full story from you- where did he pop the question? Did you start crying or hyperventilating or something? I wish I could've been there! And no, Bail, twenty-two is NOT too young to get married. Geez, half the girls in America are pregnant by then, and they don't have an awesome fiance (He's your FIANCE, Bail! Can you believe it? Hello future Mrs. Clearwater!) like my little bro. _

_Oh, and by the way, I should get some kudos, because I totally helped him pick out the engagement ring. He was going to give you some plain gold crap thing, but I was like no way dude- save it for the wedding. Give that girl some bling. He chose the blue and silver one, right? That was my favorite. _

_By the way, I don't know if you were planning on asking me or anything, and I love you a whole lot, Bail... but not enough to plan the color scheme of your wedding. _Just in cas_e you were planning on asking. Remember Emily's wedding? I still shudder to think of the words "s__hortage of fuchsia napkins"..._

_Speaking of Emily, how's my little Cameron Leah Uley doing? I love that kid. Tell her I said so. And I know Em's expecting another one in a couple months, and I hope Kim is coming along pretty well, too. She keeps texting me pictures of her almost-nonexistent baby bump. I'de better be the first to hear it when_ you_ get the two little magic lines!_

_How's everybody else doing? I bet Seth is just living on cloud nine right now. Just in case you didn't know, he loves you Bail. So much that I could almost puke on myself if it wasn't so dang sweet. _

_I have one more thing to tell you. And I really don't want to rain on your parade or anything, and don't get mad at me for not telling you sooner, I just wanted to make sure before I started spewing the news everywhere. Anyways, about a week ago, I got my period. I know, I know, TMfreakingI, but this wonderful piece of information is actually very important. I was kind of freaking out, and I wasn't sure if I was happy or not. Because it meant that I am no longer a menopausal twenty-eight year old, but I also thought it kind of meant that the whole 'werewolf' part of my life was completely over. The very next day I was walking around Vancouver (btw, I'm in Canada-it's awesome here, everybody speaks french and eats poutine), and I almost tripped over this guy who was leaning over to pick up his keys or something, and I was about to cuss him out...  
_

_But then he turned around..._

_He's so perfect, Bail. I understand now. Everything that's happened- Ian, Sam- I understand. He's a widower, thirty years old, and has a six year old daughter named Darcy who I already love more than life itself._

_Anyways. I IMPRINTED!_

_Say hi to everybody for me! Except for Renesmee because I still think she's a little freak (but don't you DARE tell Jacob I said that). See you suckers at the wedding!_

_With love,_

_Leah_


	50. Be My Somerhalder

**Well, howdy! Long time, no see...**

**So I was like, "I'm gonna do this story!" and then I did a different one and was like, "Nevermind, I'm gonna do this one!" and then I was all, "Psyche! I'm deleting that one because it's boring as hell!" But now I _actually _uploaded a new story. And I already have the first ten chapters written, so I promise I won't be backing out of this one anytime soon...**

**Title: "I'll Be Your Juliet If You Be My Somerhalder"**

**Summary: Every beautiful love story has a beautiful beginning. Ours was when he was rip-roaring drunk and vomited on me in the basement of a house party. Embry/OC, imprint story**

**Hope that you check it out! :D**


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